Beatles Shorts
by Mooncow
Summary: Not AtU. Just a bunch of short stories and one shots of the Beatles, starting with various points in their life with two OCs. Some latter ones are not as mushy and romantic and lack said OCs. Warnings listed at the top of chapters that need them.
1. Chains

_Author's Note: Hello! This is one of my Beatles shorts, written via text for a friend. Some of these short stories are hers, some mine. This one is my writing. I have no warnings for you, unless you're opposed to the Beatles getting drunk... Also, I apologize for the use of supposed British slang and accented words... I'm American and have little idea what I'm doing! Forgive me!_

_More to come in the future! Enjoy!_

**Chains**

The moment he saw her, he knew he had it all wrong. he had thought he was in love, but she walked in the door of the pub and he knew it had been a lie. He hadn't been in love, not before her. But how was he supposed to tell that to his current bird? It wasn't exactly a good subject to bring up. "Hey, love, just found out, I never loved ye! Funny, innit?" No, he couldn't do that. That wasn't what Paul was like.

But now, sitting with his bass in the flat he rented, his mind wandered to that bird, the one with the gorgeous brown eyes, the one he wasn't supposed to fall in love with.

"C'mon, Paul," he mumbled, absent-mindedly plucking at his bass strings, "Ye're not a free man. Ye can't jus fall in love with random birds off the street."

But he had. And he really didn't think of her as just a random bird, but as the one he wanted to stay with. Forever.

The phone rang, and Paul jumped out of his thoughts. He grabbed it and answered, "Hullo?"

"Paulie! 'm at thish pub, Paulie, ye should… come over an… Paulie, thish beer is wonferdul! …Wangerfuld… 'sh great!"

It was John.

With a sigh, Paul hung up on his pissed mate and grabbed his jacket so he could go and pick him up.

He wasn't prepared for who else would be there.

He saw her as soon as he walked in the door, before he even saw John, who was making a drunken fool of himself. He froze and stared.

"Keep lookin at 'er an someone might think ye're in love," Ringo, who had also received a drunk call from John, said.

Paul blinked. "N-no. I mean… 've still got-"

Ringo patted his back. "'d say, by the looks on yer face, this one's more important to ye."

Paul sighed and followed Ringo to the bar.

"Paulie, Ringsh!" John slurred, waving his mug around so brown liquid and foam sloshed on his hand, "'ey, mishter! Drink for me matesh!"

The bloke behind the counter poured out two more of the drink and placed them in front of Paul and Ringo.

Ringo shrugged and brought it to his lips.

Paul, feeling like his mind was being in torn in two by indecision, sighed and drank his own.

He woke up, groggy and pale, in a strange room on a strange floor.

"Wha…" he moaned, then saw the shoes. They were the ones she had been wearing, and they were now on the floor in the room he had been sleeping in. "Shite!"

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and sat up, clutching the blanket he had apparently been given.

The door creaked open.

"'ello! An good morning!" a cheery man said. It was the barman. "Ye an yer mates certainly 'ad a nigh to remember! or… not, I s'pose."

Paul was still staring in horror at the woman's shoes, wondering what he had done that night. The barman saw his stare.

"Ah, an there was a pretty lass, too. 'd take it ye're already taken,eh? Well, no worries. Ye passed out after a bit of harmless flirtin."

Paul let out a breath of relief, but also one of regret.

A new voice travelled his direction. "Hugh? Ta for letting me stay, but 've gotta go. Seen me shoes?"

Paul recognized it as her voice, who else could it be? But he couldn't put a name it.

The barman, Hugh, replied, "No problem, Emily. Shoes are up 'ere. Would ye mind openin the door for business downstairs?"

She walked in and saw him.

"Oh, 'ello," she said shyly.

"'Ello," Paul replied, unable to take his eyes off her.

She took her shoes and turned to Hugh. "Don let me drink tha much again. I shouldn't 'ave to stay overnigh at the pub."

Hugh nodded. "Do me best. 'Ey, tell yer mum I say hi, will ye?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "She's not me mum, Hugh. Jus me neighbor."

"Tell 'er anyways."

Emily left and Paul blurted out the one question on his mind. "She yer girlfriend?"

Hugh laughed. "No, no, friend of a friend. 'm married." He waggled his fingers, showing off a small gold wedding band.

Paul nodded. "Well, ta for the hospitality." He got up and shook Hugh's hand.

"It was nothing. Oh, an ye may wanna know," Hugh said, then told Paul where Emily lived, "In case ye're ever interested. I think she likes ye."

Paul thanked him, then left with confusion and indecision taking over his mind. He went home and cleaned up, then checked his phone messages.

"Shite," he muttered as he heard his girlfriend's voice. It suddenly sounded fake and whiny to him. She wanted him to take her out that night.

He sighed. Then, Paul picked up the phone and called her back. To his surprise, she didn't answer, and he didn't bother with a message. Instead, he decided to go for a walk to try and clear his mind. So, he put on his jacket and headed out.

"I can't just cheat on my girl," he mumbled to himself as he walked, "Much as I want to love tha Emily bird, I can't. But… I 'ave to, 've never loved anyone more, an 've barely met 'er! She 'as to be the one, she 'as to be! But I can't jus dump me current bird like some arse… An I can't cheat… Bloody hell, what do I do? 'm trapped…"

He found he had made his way to her flat building without realizing it, and was standing in front of it.

Taking a deep breath, he walked in the door, and got into the lift, knowing he'd find her on the fourth floor.

Not stopping to think, he rapped on her door, holding his breath.

She answered with a cat at her ankles.

"'ey," Paul said.

""ello," she replied with a smile he couldn't help but love.

"I, uh… I was wonderin if ye'd maybe like to 'ave tea with me today?" he said, making it up on the spot and hoping he wasn't doing anything that day.

Her smile grew. "'d love to!"

"Gear, so… see ye later, then."

Later that day, Paul met Emily at a little café in town, and they ordered tea. it didn't take long for them to be laughing like the best of friends.

Paul, for the first time in the past few days, felt his heart lighten. Being with her, he knew where he belonged. Somewhere in his mind, he knew what he had to do, but for the moment, he was simply enjoying the company of the object of his heart's attention.

Emily was stirring her tea absent-mindedly, talking about her mates and some of the things she liked. Rather than feeling bored, Paul was very much interested in anything she had to say.

"Emily, ye're beautiful," he blurted out.

She looked at him in surprise.

"Ye really are," he said, "an… I think I love ye. Hell, I know I do."

Her eyes grew round. "I think I love ye, too," she whispered.

They looked at each other for a while, taking it all in.

Emily happened to glance at a clock on the wall. She jumped up.

"'m late! 'm so sorry, Paul, I 'ave to go! Will ye… Call me whenever, yeah?"

Paul nodded and watched her hurry out. He was in a great mood, absolutely blissful. She was everything he ever wanted and more. She was perfect.

Leaving the café, he walked down the street, whistling happily.

That is, until he saw his girlfriend.

And she saw him.

"Paul!" she screeched, hobbling over in her high heels with shopping bags on wither side.

"'ello," Paul said distractedly, worry beginning to gnaw inside him again.

"Paul, ye'll never guess wha Dana said about Mandy's hair! Aand Randy's new suit, oh, what a laugh!" she jabbered on.

Paul walked with her, mustering up his courage. he knew what he had to do, but was dreading it.

"Paul? Wha do ye think about tha?" she asked.

"'ey, why don we sit for a bit, yeah?" Paul said, gesturing towards a bench.

They sat and Paul gathered his thoughts. For once in their relationship, she was quiet.

"Look, love, I … I 'ave to tell ye somethin," he began slowly.

"Ye're breakin up with me, aren't ye?"

Paul closed his eyes. He knew he didn't love her, not nearly anywhere near Emily, but he still felt wretched.

"I-I'm so sorry… I jus… I don think this could work for the rest of our lives."

She stared at him, shocked disbelief on her face. "Ye are, aren't ye. I never thought ye would…"

Paul placed a hand on her knee. "Ye're a great person, ye really are. I can see ye findin someone perfect for ye. I jus don think 'm tha perfect bloke."

She stared at him for a while longer. "This is really happenin, innit? …Well, I 'ave to say, Paul, I didn't think ye'd do this."

Paul braced himself for the tears. But none came.

"Paul McCartney," she said, "Ye're a brave lad, but it took ye long enough! Cor blimey, an I thought ye really expected us to stay together forever! Well, invite me to yer birthday party, yeah? See ye."

Paul watched, rooted to the spot, as she walked away as if it were no big deal. If he had known how easy it was to break up with her…

He reminded himself that he was free, the chains were broken, and a smile lit up his face. Relief filled him, and he looked forward to asking Emily to dinner, and seeing her face as a free man.


	2. You're Gonna Lose That Girl

_Author's Note: This one is Emily's, shared by me. Enjoy! I know I did._

_Warning for language. F-bombs are dropped._

**You're Gonna Lose That Girl**

John was wandering around the docks in Liverpool. One could say he was in a state. He'd met a gorgeous bird at a club the other night, and he'd fallen arse-over-teakettle in love. She was funny, sweet, beautiful…

John sighed. There was one rather meddlesome problem; her American boyfriend.

Stephen was hardly a good boyfriend. John could tell that within five seconds of setting eyes on him. They way he flirted with every bird he saw EXCEPT his bird made John sick, but when John attempted to talk with Courtney, he got chewed out by the bastard.

John growled out loud. He knew that bird deserved better. It just wasn't right. Then, John heard voices approaching and ducked into an alley to brood some more.

Much to John's surprise, the passing people were Courtney and Stephen. The former talking about how much she loved the country, the latter not caring to listen, and eventually waving her off while he talked to a bird (who, John happened to know, was waiting for her husband).

Sighting his chance, John stalked over.

"So," Stephen was saying, grinning at the poor girl, "You ever been with an American guy?"

That did it for John. He marched up behind Stephen and spun him around. He was intending to punch that godawful smirk off Stephen's face but held back.

"Don ye 'ave yer own bird?" John roared at the stunned man, "Well? Don ye? Answer me, ye bloody bastard!"

"Uh… Y-yeah…"

John lowered his voice to a growl. "Well, why don ye go to 'er then? Go take 'er somewhere nice, like she deserves."

Stephen had, stupidly, gained some composure at John's low tone. "What's it to you, asshole?"

John snapped. He drove his fist into the side of Stephen's face, and watched him recoil.

"Tell ye wha, ye fuckin piece of shite. DON take 'er out," John snarled at the American on the dirt-covered ground, "I'll take 'er, an then she'll see how horrible ye are an never go back to ye."

With that, John turned and walked away. A few minutes later, Courtney came and saw her boyfriend's bruised face. Stephen only snapped at her when she asked what happened.

John had tailed the pair to where they were staying, a dingy little hotel near the shipyards. John took note of the place and went home.

Five hours later, John stood in the light of a lamppost, smoking a cigarette and pondering what to do. He finally settled on going in to ask.

"'Ey," he said to the woman at the desk, an old, wrinkled pig of a woman, "Is there a Courtney stayin 'ere?"

"Yeah," the woman grunted as she eyed him.

"Gear, 'as she gone out lately? With a Stephen bloke?"

The woman paused, seemingly to judge whether or not to tell John. She finally spoke. "The bird 'asn't left since this morning. The bloke's been out for three hours."

John's face darkened as he held back his anger and disgust at Stephen's actions. "Which room. Is she in?" he growled.

"114."

John stalked down an adjoining hall, looking for the room, quietly growling out the numbers of rooms he passed until he came to 114. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, and rapped on the door.

Courtney answered, looking in surprise at John. He smiled, his rage disappearing.

"Ey," he said, not quite able to think straight.

"Hello," she replied.

"Er, I 'eard ye got left home on a Saturday nigh."

Courtney shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but John could see the look in her eyes, showing how slighted she felt.

"Well, I was thinkin it was a damn shame, leavin such a pretty bird alone on such a nigh, so I was wonderin…" John gulped nervously. "Er, wonderin if ye'd like to go out with me."

Courtney's eyes widened with surprise. her first instinct was to stick by her boyfriend and decline; but after being treated so badly, her rebellious side decided to show through. John's scouser grin sealed the deal for her.

"Sure, just let me get my coat."

Later, the pair were walking back, laughing and talking like the pair of lovebirds they'd turned into.

"They did WHAT?" Courtney laughed.

"Righ in the middle of the room! Cor, ye should've seen Paul an Em's faces…" John chuckled, shaking his head at the memory.

"Courtney!" a voice roared. Courtney stopped dead as Stephen stepped out into the lamplight, two suitcases in hand.

"God damn it Courtney! What the hell are you doing with that asshole?" he snarled at her, throwing down the two cases and advancing on the pair. "You cheating slut. You think I don't know what you're doing?"

John tensed, ready to cripple the bastard for insulting Courtney like that, but she grabbed his arm before he could rush Stephen.

"Stop it! WE didn't do anything, he was just showing me around! You left me sitting at the hotel alone!"

"Yeah, thinking I could trust you to stay the hell put!"

John couldn't stand it. "It's not her fault ye're a fuckin arse and ye go out flirtin with everythin tha breathes!"

"Fuck off, you! C'mon, Courtney, we're going back to the States."

Courtney stood looking at him, remembering all the times he'd left her, all the times he'd hurt her, all the things he'd said to her, comparing that to what John had.

Said scouser reached over to take her hand, begging her in that gesture to stay,

"No," she said, squeezing John's hand. He smiled.

Stephen gaped at her, not believing what she was saying. "What did you say to me?"

Courtney reaffirmed her answer strongly.

Stephen stood, shocked. "…You bitch," he growled before rushing at her, murder in his eyes.

John, however, wouldn't let that happen. he sent a fist into Stephen's face once again, then grabbed the stunned man by the collar.

"Don. Ye. Fuckin. Dare. Ye've lost her, she deserves more than ye," he snarled in the man's face, then threw him to the ground.

Stephen huffed a bit, nose bleeding heavily, before turning tail and running away.

"John?"

John froze, realizing Courtney was still there.

"John… ta."

John turned to look at Courtney, then embraced her. She put her arms around him as well, and the two stood together in the street, just holding on.


	3. McCartney Wedding

_Author's Note: I think I wrote this one, but from Emily's perspective. So, the narrator is Emily in the first section, then switches to my point of view._

**McCartney Wedding**

I nervously slipped the ring on and off my finger as I waited for my cue. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but no one told me how nervous I would be.

"Who's walkin with ye?" Ringo asked as he passed me, coming to the ceremony late.

"No one," I said shakily. I took a deep breath. "Me da couldn't make it from America, much as 'e tried."

Ringo nodded and reached for the church door. He stopped and turned back. "Wait, do ye need someone to walk ye down?" he asked, blue eyes full of concern, "I could go find someone. Who's close to ye in there?"

"Rings, there's not time. 's alrigh.

He almost turned around again, but an idea struck him. "Wait a tic, how'd it be if I walked ye down? We're friends!"

It was time. The flower girl, Paul's young cousin, started down the aisle. The butterflies in my stomach grew and flew around faster.

"Tha'd be great," I said quickly to Ringo.

He nodded and walked next to me. I looked down at my white dress, then at the people in the crowds, most of which were Paul's family, as well as our mutual friends.

Everyone was smiling, giving me courage. I scanned the small crowd, looking through the people, watching their reactions. Then, I looked straight ahead, and all my fear left. He was there, waiting for me in his black tuxedo, hair combed neatly and eyes bright as he looked at me with a grin.

I reached his side, and Ringo peeled away to join John and George. John waved childishly and George showed his fangs in an encouraging smile. John was quite obviously the best man, a job he wasn't taking as seriously as he could have, probably on account of Paul's stag party the night before.

I glanced to the other side of me to see Courtney, wearing a dress to her own dismay. But she was now smiling and gave me a little thumbs-up. I smiled back, then turned back towards Paul as the preacher started.

"We are gathered here today.." was what I heard, but my only thought was "Paul, Paul, Paul…"

* * *

"Congratulations, Mrs. McCartney!" I said as soon as we reached the reception room. Em was positively beaming, as her husband accepted congratulations with an arm around her waist.

John walked up behind me and addressed the happy couple. "Where's the honeymoon? Gonna go pay a visit to Marivo again?" he joked.

Paul cringed. "Back on tha island? I think we can do better. Wha do ye say, love?"

"Anywhere with ye," she replied.

Paul grinned with a loving look. "I couldn't ask for a better wife, ye know."

"Well, wherever ye go," a new voice said, "'m sure ye'll be happy."

I spun around to see the one and only Marcus Richards, accompanied by his brother, Marden, who was in a suit with a checked tie.

"So you met cousin Marivo, then?" Marden asked, "He's rather odd. Good fun, tho."

John chuckled and I hid a smile and a flush, ashamed of the "fun" we had while in the cave, the drugs Marivo offered.

"Ta," Paul said to Marcus, "An thanks for comin. Who told ye?"

Marcus winked. "A little bird told me."

"And an obnoxious cat told me," Marden added.

"Well, I must go, but it was a lovely ceremony, and ye're a lovely couple," Marcus said.

Then, he and Marden left. And I somehow doubted that was the last of the Richards we'd see.

* * *

_Author's Note... Again: Okay, so Marden and Marcus Richards are my OCs. Marden appears in my story "Changing a Mind" and Marcus in "Back to Where You Once Belonged." Marivo is their cousin from a tropical island story I had written via text with Emily involving the Beatles. That one got lost. Anyway, sorry for any confusion. The Richards family tends to arrive with chaos and trouble!_

_Also, the "fun" in the cave wasn't a sexual reference. That scene, if I remember, was John, George and Courtney (me) just got high off of some of Marivo's island hallucinogens. And we were just loopy and embarrassing._


	4. Pizza

_Author's Note: Okay, this short, sweet little drabble was by my friend, Emily. Warnings for suggestive content, I guess, but nothing in depth. Not at all!_

**Pizza**

"Joooohn…" Courtney mock-whined to her fiancé. It was Saturday, and they were laying on the couch, just being generally lazy after a long week. "I don't wanna cook tonigh."

"Well, 'm not gonna do it."

"There's always pizza, I guess," she muttered, her breath tickling his neck.

"Heh, stop tha. Anyroad, tha'll work, pizza sounds gear."

"Thought so."

There was a pause.

John sighed. "'M gonna 'ave to phone, won't I?"

"Mhmm."

"Fine!" he said, sighing dramatically and stepping over to the rotary phone.

A few minutes later, he returned to the couch.

"Righ, they'll be a few minutes."

"Gear," Courtney replied.

A moment of silence.

"Ye wanna do somethin, then?" John said, wagging his eyebrows.

Courtney laughed.

* * *

Later, a pizza guy appeared at the door. Typical pimply face, wanting to get his job done and get back. He rang the doorbell and waited.

He didn't expect a half-naked John Lennon to appear at the door, hair mussed up and all.

John gave the boy a glare, probably for interrupting, and said, "Try again later," before slamming the door.


	5. Proposal

_Author's Note: This one was written by the afore mentioned friend for me via text. Rating at about T. And British slang/accented words are the best the two of us can do, having never been to Britain!_

**Proposal**

John wasn't nervous. A tough guy like him didn't get nervous. No, he wasn't nervous; he was terrified.

John looked at the little black velvet box in his hand and sighed. He didn't have the courage for this. What if she turned him down? What if-

"Johnny? Ye wankin off in there or wha?" Paul's voice came from outside the door.

"No! Christ, Paul, 'm not always doin tha!" he exclaimed as he walked out to see his grinning friend, leaving the box on his bed.

"Well, after tonigh, ye won't have to, now, will ye? Ey, where's the ring?"

"I, er, I dunno if-"

Paul growled in frustration. "Lennon, we've been through this EIGHT TIMES today. She's not gonna say no, she's not gonna hate ye, she's not gonna stop talkin to ye. Hell, she'll probably start snoggin ye on the spot."

"Jus cos ye an Em did tha-"

Paul glanced at his watch and jumped. "Shite, John! We're gonna be late! Let's go!" He started dashing out to the car, John at his heels.

"Grab the ring, ye git!" Paul shouted, John having almost forgotten the thing the whole night was planned around.

He picked up the box and stared at it a second, trying desperately to think of Courtney as his wife to give him strength. It worked and he dashed out the door after Paul.

It was a posh place, and everyone else was having a great time. But all John could do was toy nervously with the box in his pocket.

Paul started talking about his and Emily's upcoming wedding, and Courtney's eyes flickered over to John.

That was all he needed.

He got off his chair, and down on one knee, fishing the little black velvet box and opening it to reveal an elegant silver ring.

"Courtney?" he started. Courtney's eyes had suddenly become much wider, and her mouth hung open a bit in shock. "I love ye more than anything in the world, an I want to spend the rest of me life by yer side. Would ye make me the happiest man in the world an marry me?" His voice wavered a bit at the end.

It couldn't have been more than a moment or two, but it seemed like forever to John before her face broke out in a smile and she nodded, unable to speak. John smiled back and stood up to kiss her, slipping the band on her finger as he did so. They stood for a while like that, consuming each other as they kissed.

"Get a room!" somebody called. John looked up to see his best mate smirking as Emily slapped his arm. John rolled his eyes and Courtney took his hand. Everything was wonderful.

* * *

"MCCARTNEY! STOP SNOGGIN YER BIRD FOR A TIC SO I CAN GET MARRIED, YEAH?" John yelled at his best man, who had managed to sneak off with his new wife yet again. John swore he was going to murder him. Paul was supposed to be helping him with this, not escaping away to snog. Emily was probably supposed to be keeping Courtney in check as well.

Suddenly, Paul appeared, straightening his bowtie and fixing his hair. "No need to shout. She had to go help the bride with her nervous breakdown anyroad."

"Why's SHE nervous?" John said, heart sinking, "Doesn't she want to do this?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "Course she does, ye git. She's probably worried cause of the same reason ye are, which I still don't understand."

But John had already turned to examine himself in the mirror one last time.

"I wasn't like this at me weddin. Ye're actin like a bloody bird," Paul muttered, "Ye ready yet?"

John let out a nervous sigh. "As I'll ever be."

Paul smiled an patted his friend's shoulder. "Gear, now go out there an make Courtney yer wife."

John smiled. She was worth it.


	6. Christmas Gifts

_Author's note: I honestly can't remember if I wrote this or if my friend, Emily, did... Either way, enjoy the short and sweet!_

**Christmas Gifts**

They sat around the Christmas tree in John's flat, everyone smiling and happy; even Courtney, the known humbug of the group. She was in John's arms, leaned up against the arm of the sofa. Paul was laughing at Emily, who was staring intently at the brightly wrapped boxes, which so perfectly reflected the light. They were supposed to wait for Rings, Geo, and their dates, but by the looks of it, they weren't coming.

Suddenly, Courtney stood up, walked over to the tree, plucked a bow from George's present, and plopped it on John's mop before settling back into his arms.

John grinned. "So 'm yer gift, am i?"

"Yep," Courtney affirmed, knowing John would understand the gesture.

"So ye gonna take the wrappin off or wha?"

"Not 'ere, ye won't!" Emily exclaimed, glaring at John, "Ruddy pervert."

John just laughed.

"Later, I will," Courtney said.

"So if John's Courtney's present…" Paul said, coming up behind Emily, then throwing his arms around her, "Do I get to be yers?"

Emily's face flushed.

Then George walked in. "Ye lot're goin at it ALREADY? Christ."


	7. New Year's Eve

_Author's Note: This is yet another short by the lovely Emily (Who, let's face it, has better ideas than me when it comes to this stuff!)._

**New Year's Eve**

Everyone was there. The Stones. of course, who were good friends with the lads, had shown up a bit later than usual. Townshend, Entwhistle and Daltrey had managed to be on time with their girls, but Moon and his had shown up hours late, as per usual.

The hosts of this year's party were scattered about the room. Starr and Moon had gotten into a drinking contest, much to the chagrin of their birds.

Harrison was smoking and talking guitar chords with Keith Richards, Jagger occasionally throwing in his two cents.

However, two of the party hosts were seemingly absent. In one corner of the club, hidden from most people, John hadn't been able to wait until midnight to perform the traditional New Year's kiss, and was snogging his girlfriend. Fortunately, they only scared a few people that had been around trying to find a place to do the same thing.

Paul and his bird were sitting at a table, Paul's arms around her shoulders, looking at the clock and waiting for the all-important countdown.

"I'll be back, love," he said, kissing her cheek.

It didn't take Paul very long to find the preoccupied couple.

"John," he said. John didn't notice. "John. John! Oi, Lennon!"

John managed to stop kissing his bird long enough to glare at his mate. Courtney blushed a bit more than she already was.

"Yes, Paulie," John growled, a bit out of breath.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Can ye stop sucking yer bird's face long enough to do the countdown with us?"

John's eyes widened, realizing he'd almost forgotten. "C'mon, love!"

Paul watched his two friends run out and rejoin the party, then glanced at the clock. 11:58. He hurried back to where Emily was waiting.

"So," she started, "Where's the git?"

Paul scanned the room. "Ah, right there. Lookit 'im, 'is hands're shakin."

Said scouse git was nervous to say the least. Digging in his pocket for a little black box, he started on the little speech he'd been practicing for weeks.

"Courtney," he started out, trying to hide the wavering in his voice. Courtney looked at him; his sudden demeanour change surprised her. "There's something've been meanin to ask ye, love. 've been in love with ye since the moment I saw ye at the Cavern, an even though I can't imagine me feelings for ye getting any stronger, I know the will, cos they do everyday."

John's hand had finally found the box as the clock ticked 11:59. "I want to be with ye until the day I die, an I was wonderin if, maybe," he knelt down on one knee, taking the little box out of his pocket and opening it to reveal a sparkling ring, "Ye'd consider startin the new year off as this scouser's fiancé?"

The crowd began counting down as Courtney stood there in shock.

"Nine!" She blinked.

"Eight!" "John, I..."

"Seven!" John's face fell, thinking she was rejecting him.

"Six!" "John, no! I mean-" "'s alrigh, love."

"Five!" "Ye're not listening, John!"

"Four!" "If ye don want to marry me, tha's alrigh! 's fine!

"Three!" "John Lennon! Yes!"

"Two!" "W-what?"

"One!" "Oh, bloody hell!"

"Happy New Year!" everyone cried out as Courtney pulled John into a kiss as an unmistakeable answer to his question. John grinned and put his arms around her, deepening the kiss.

Happy New Year!


	8. Birth

_Author's Note: A rather short story by the lovely Emily!_

**Birth**

John sat out in the waiting room, the ashtray next to his spot piled with cigarette butts. He'd been sitting there for what seemed like forever, none of the doctors or nurses even looking at him as they passed by. John tried to push all the horror stories he'd heard from his mind, but they simply would not go away.

"She's alrigh, John," he thought desperately, unintentionally muttering the words in his own type of prayer, "She's a tough bird, she'll be alrigh. Ye'll see. They'll both be fine."

He added another cigarette to the pile and sighed. He could only hope he was right.

* * *

Later, he was at Courtney's side, holding her hand. She'd made it, of course. He'd been a fool to think she wouldn't pull through just fine. Life simply couldn't go on without her. He wouldn't want it to.

When the doctor handed John his newborn son, he almost cried. He'd never admit it, of course, but he was on the edge. It was hard not to be, seeing as he had what was now the two most important things in his world there, safe and happy.


	9. Drunken John

_Author's Note: Another one by the lovely Emily! _

**Drunken John**

"No, John, for the last bloody time, I do NOT 'ave a thing for Courtney," Paul growled as he dragged John out of the bar.

John and Courtney had gotten into a spat and John, of course, had resorted to drowning his anger in alcohol. And, as his best mate, it was Paul's duty to take care of the pissed Lennon.

"Good, cosh if yeh did, 'd have shum awful strong wordsh to shay to ye, Macca," he slurred, pointing in Paul's general direction.

"So 've heard," Paul growled.

He and John continued, Paul walking and John stumbling, until they reached a familiar rowhouse.

"'sh not me flat, Paul," John said, not recognizing the place in his pissed stupor.

"No, no 's not," Paul growled, rapping on the door.

Before too long, a tall blonde girl appeared at the door, her eyes widening at the sight of John.

"'es yer problem, now," Paul said and flew down the street, John falling over in the absence of his support.

Courtney sighed and bent down, helping John to his feet.

"'e better not haffe a thing for ye. 'd haffe to murder 'is arshe," John muttered.

Courtney chuckled.

* * *

John woke up with a splitting headache…

And fingers running through his hair? He opened his eyes a bit, finding his head in Courtney's lap, looking up at her.

She gave a half-smile. "Morning," she whispered.

"Mornin," he replied. He wished he could wake up like this everyday.

"Look, John, about last nigh-"

John put a finger up to her lips. "Shh. Never happened, yeah?"

Courtney sighed, continuing to rake her fingers through his mop. "John, I just… I'm sorry…"

John reached up and took her preoccupied hand. "'m sorry, too, love. Can ye forgive me?"

Courtney gave him a smile and nodded. He grinned back before kissing her hand. He would have continued, but his headache was bloody murder on him.

"Jus… don't leave, okay?" he said, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and hangover.

"Sure, I don't have anywhere to be," Courtney replied, about to back to stroking his head, but John held onto her hand.

"No, I meant… don't leave me… ever…" he muttered.

Courtney smiled at the man on her lap. He really was a wonderful man at heart.

"Never."


	10. Kindergarten

_Author's Note: Okay, this story was by me. I have little to no knowledge of the British schooling system, so forgive me! Or just assume we all moved to America for some reason... Anyway, enjoy!_

**Kindergarten**

"Why are we here, again?" the man next to Paul asked sleepily.

They were at a school, and it was early. And John was not quite awake yet.

"So Suzie and Julian can go here and learn somethin useful, remember?" Paul replied, once again, with a sigh. His mate was beginning to get on his nerves.

"So many better things I could do with me day," John grumbled, thinking of his wife.

""m sure," Paul replied, letting his mind wander to his own wife.

Said wives were with their children, dropping off the to-be kindergartners in a play area so they could go on an adult tour of the school.

"So… Heard the news."

Paul started. "What news?"

John smirked. "Ye got 'er knocked up again, didn't ye?"

Paul snorted. "Ye're one to talk. With baby Cassie goin on six months an all."

At that moment, the girls walked into the room, having gotten Susan and Julian settled in the play room.

"Ye boys gonna sit there gossiping or wha?" Courtney asked.

John got up and stood next to his wife. "Le's go to school!" he said with mock-excitement.

Paul went to Em. "So…"

She gave him a confused look. "So?"

"So… Ye're pregnant?"

She shot a look at Courtney, the only one she had told so far.

Courtney shrugged and made an "oops" face. It was obvious enough that she had let it slip to John.

EC sighed. "Yeah, 's true."

Paul looked at her for a moment, then wrapped her in a hug and spun her around, grinning.

"I love ye," he said as he put her down.

She gazed back at him, surprised and delighted by his reaction to the news. "I love ye, too."

Paul took her face in his hand and pulled it towards his lips. The two closed their eyes and pressed themselves together, relishing the passionate kiss.

Courtney and John looked at each other, then exited the room with similar smirks, not even noticed by the snogging couple.


	11. Ghost Dance

_Author's Note: Another of Emily's fine shorts... She seems to have written most of the ones I kept! Anyway, enjoy another short and sweet one!_

**Ghost Dance**

John and Courtney stood watching the others whirl around the dance floor. They had been talking to each other like old friends, and each was feeling flutters when the other glanced in their direction.

John wanted terribly to just take her hand and dance with her, like they had in his own time. His chance came when the DJ put on a slow song.

He glanced over in Courtney's direction.

"Would ye dance with me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice smooth.

"I-I don't know how," she muttered, blushing.

John smiled at her. She was adorable and he loved it.

"I can teach ye."

And so John set about showing her, slow movements of the pair making them glide as if on air, each caught up in the other.

"I love 'er," John thought distractedly as he gazed into her eyes, "I didn't know what I was missing. It's amazing. SHE'S amazing!"

Courtney gazed back into his light brown eyes, so full of life and emotion that she would've never guessed he was a ghost. She wouldn't have cared. At that moment, she was locked in time with him, moving together as one single being.


	12. Heaven

_Author's note: I wish I could take credit for this one, I really do! I love it! But alas, it was written by my friend, not me. I'm only sharing the love!_

**Heaven**

A sea of white. That was all the old scouse saw before him. He was even dressed in white clothes.

"What the…" he started.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep at home after his most recent tour. He'd fallen ill and had to cut it sho-

Paul stopped. He was dead. It was over, he'd died in his sleep.

He broke down, sobbing at the loss of his fans, career, and children…

…But he stopped when he realized someone else should be there, someone he'd lost years ago.

Paul stood shakily, and took a few steps. Oddly, he felt stronger. He took a few more steps, the veins and wrinkles crisscrossing his skin fading a bit. He'd taken nine steps when he began to hear music. Music like the kind that used to play back when…

Paul walked faster, determined to find the source of the noise, stepping backwards through his years. Someone watching him would have seen him go through the wings band period all the way back to his cavern club years. The music was close now, the guitars and drums and bass drawing him nearer to a set of stairs going down.

He walked down the steps carefully, picking up bits of conversation.

"…got it, Stu!"

"Hehe… ta, ye…"

"Good job, lads! John… jacket…"

"Lovebirds."

Paul finally reached the bottom step, finding himself in a reproduction of the Cavern Club, except it was missing all the people. But hadn't he heard voices?

"Ello? Anyone 'ere? Ey!"

"…is it… but 'e's not…" someone whispered.

"Please! Please come out!"

He heard footsteps behind him.

"Well, well, well. Mr. McCartney decided he could just skip the welcome process, eh?"

Paul spun around to see an old man with a white beard.

"Well, you're a good sort anyway, so let's get this over with. Here."

The man tossed him a circle of light.

"Pretty much your get-in-free pass for the whole place. Put it on and you'll see. Now, I've got to fly; you've messed up my whole schedule."

With that, the man disappeared, leaving Paul alone.

"Wait!" he cried, clutching the hoop for dear afterlife.

"Put it on… Paulie!" someone said, "On yer… head!"

Paul looked for the speaker, but could find none.

Paul looked at the object in his hand.

"What're… waitin for… loony!"

"Please…! Jus…"

Paul was terrified. He wasn't used to having disembodied voices telling him what to do, and his hands shook as he lifted the circle up over his head.

"Tha's it… my Paulie."

Paul closed his eyes and released the hoop, which didn't fall to his once-again black mop as expected.

"Open yer eyes, ye loony!" a familiar voice cried excitedly.

Paul slowly opened his eyes to see John standing in front of him, eyes glittering with a boyish mischievousness. His arm was around Courtney's shoulder, just like he had always done. A bit farther back from them were Stu and George, both of them smiling at him as they fiddled with their instruments.

However, the person Paul was looking for was nowhere to be seen, and Paul very nearly panicked.

"Where is she?" He cried, looking around frantically.

John smiled and shook his head. "I knew ye weren't the brightest bulb, son, but really now, ye're being jus ridiculous."

Courtney playfully swatted her husband's arm.

Paul was about to demand what they meant when someone tapped his shoulder. He spun around to see the person he was so determined to find. His wife, who had died nine years before himself.

She grinned nervously."Ello, Paul."

Paul stared at her, frozen in shock. She looked exactly as they had when they first met back in '63, when she and Courtney had walked in together to see them play.

"…Paul?" she said, not quite sure of what he'd do.

Paul stood there a moment longer before finally moving, lunging forward to embrace the girl he had missed for so long, and holding her. He pulled away only to capture her lips in a kiss, pouring out all of the heartache and loneliness he had endured during those years.

John stood, feeling a bit awkward as the moments stretched into minutes.

"Think we should stop 'em?"

Courtney rolled her eyes. "Ye practically shagged me on the spot when I got 'ere."

John grinned. "Tha I did. But really, they've got all of eternity to-"

"Oh, jus give 'em a bit longer," she said, planting a kiss on her husband's check.


	13. Beatles Cops Part I

_Author's Note: A three part adventure of the Beatles not being musical... These three are the last of Emily's work I have saved, so I'll be getting on writing more of my own stuff afterwards!_

_Warnings for language. _

**_Beatles Cops Part I_**

Place? The huge city of London.

Time? Just as night begins retaking the city into its shadowy clutches.

Who? Two young thieves and two young officers, the girls of the pairs both younger than their counterparts.

Why? Just shut it and listen already! Sheesh!

Anyroad…

The thieves were sprinting for their lives, one laughing hysterically, the other desperately trying to find a way to lose their pursuers.

Said law enforcers were hot on their heels, keeping up even when the absconding bandits purposely knocked rubbish bins in their wake to throw them off. The girl of the team calling for help as her shorter partner began to fall behind. They couldn't lose these criminals.

The girl thief grabbed her partner's collar and made a 180, running straight at the cops and nearly choking her cohort. They rushed the police officers, who were prepared to fire in self-defense, and ran past them over an alley gate and up a fire escape.

The cops knew they had been outdone this time. When the thieves took to the rooftops, they were never seen until the next heist.

With heavy hearts, officers Muenchow and McCartney returned to the station, and thieves Carda and Lennon lived to steal another day.

* * *

"Food, Ems, we have food!" John announced happily as he strode into their 'headquarters'. Which, in actuality, was a slightly modified abandoned subway station. Mostly the ticket and office space, to be exact.

EC threw herself at her partner, desperate to get as the delicious spoils of their last raid. Or, at least, what became of the spoils.

"C'mon, Johnny, give it 'ere!" she growled in frustration as she tried to get it from her friend.

"Ye gotta steal it from me first!" he teased.

"Tha's not fair! Ye're bigger than me, and I can't surprise ye anymore!" the urchin whined, her dirt-covered face contorting into a pout.

John just laughed, ruffling her already unkempt hair. "I know, love, here ye go." With that, he tossed the bag to her.

EC let out a squeal of joy as she caught the bag, delighted by the warmth and smell of the food waiting within. However, as she opened the bag, her Cheshire grin faded.

"Johnny… There's only one…" she said, pulling out a single foil-covered hamburger.

"I already ate mine," he said.

She turned and glared at him, knowing full well he was lying. He was about to defend his statement when an untimely stomach growl affirmed her suspicions.

" 'M not eating until ye do, John," she growled, putting the still-warm burger back in its bag and setting it on the ticket counter before crossing her arms, "And don't ye dare lie to me, Lennon."

John ran a hand through his dirty mop, sighing. No matter how well he could lie to anyone else, she always knew. He sat on the station floor, exhaustion and starvation getting to him.

"'M sorry, Ems, there wasn't enough for more. If those bloody cops hadn't gotten there, I might've gotten more, but as it is…" he trailed off, mostly blaming himself for the lack of loot they'd been making off with lately.

Suddenly, the larger half of a hamburger landed in his lap. He looked to his right to see EC contentedly eating the absent half.

He grinned and dug into their small feast as well. For the moment, all was well at their homely HQ.

* * *

"Bloody. Fucking. Hell," Officer McCartney growled into his desk, having slammed his head there in frustration. His partner, Officer Muenchow, ruffled his black hair from her seat on the desk and took another sip of her tea.

"They got away again, big surprise there," she said cynically, hopping off the desk and going over to rummage through her own desk, "Don't sweat it, Macca."

"How the bloody hell do they do it, anyroad?" he asked, head now resting in his hand, "Every time we get so ruddy close and then, POOF! They're gone! "'M at me wit's end, Moonie."

Courtney sighed. This case was wearing on her colleague, and it showed. His round eyes had bags under them, and his normally immaculate appearance had been replaced by one of almost constant wear.

Truth be told, she wasn't exactly unaffected by the case, either. Her normally bubbly, happy disposition had given to cynicism and sarcasm.

"It'll be alright, Paul. Ye'll see. We'll catch 'em next time," she said, retaking her place on Paul's desk.

"If we're not fired first," was his remorse reply.

Courtney sighed. "Coffee?"

"Please."

She rose to get the coffee, but was stopped by a man that flew into the office like he'd been shot from a slingshot.

"Mornin' all!" George Harrison cried gleefully. Geo was the resident rookie and the resident pencil-pusher.

"Geo," Courtney stated. It was too early for Geo's energized antics. Paul didn't even acknowledge the rookie.

"And I thought the chief was a terrible morning person," he said, grimacing at the sight of the two exhausted police officers.

Feeling a smidge guilty, Courtney tossed him a doughnut, causing the skinny man to drop his files in favor of the pastry before dashing off.

"They shouldn't let him near the coffee," Courtney muttered, taking another sip of her tea.

"They don't," growled her partner, getting up to gather the dropped files. In the middle of organizing the papers, he stopped dead.

"Moonie, look here!" he cried, gripping a sheet of paper like it was the only thing left in the world. His partner hurried over to look and there, on the paper, was a police file on John Lennon.

"'Arrested on charges of petty theft and suspicion of murder-' Paul, this is what we've been looking for!" Courtney cried, ecstatic at having found a new lead on their case, "This is the guy that's been stealing from the houses in Kensington!"

"Yeah, but who's always with 'im? And how's the bugger getting in? Those are some of the best security sy-" Paul started only to be cut off by a rib-crushing hug from his partner.

"Who gives a bloody damn? We found him! We bloody found him!"

In the hallway, George Harrison froze. He was supposed to keep those files safe! He couldn't let them catch John and EC; they'd be goners, no matter how clever they were! He needed to do something, anything… He needed to find John. And fast.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the thieves' HQ, it was EC's turn to keep watch… But keeping watch was incredibly boring. Nothing to do but sit and… wait… what was that?

EC hid in the shadows, listening to the quickly approaching footsteps, preparing to attack the intruder. At the appearance of a thin man, she pounced with a war cry that could raise the dead onto her victim.

The man screamed and fell to the ground, crying out in unmasked fear, "John! John, call 'er off! For the love of God, John!"

As John flew from his sleeping place, ready to beat whoever dared mess with his Ems to bloody hell, said girl had backed off the perceived intruder after noticing the use of John's name.

"George?" she said, hardly believing it, "Johnny, Georgie's back!"

John didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more worried. If George was here, that meant…

"John," he said, panic thick in his voice, "Something's gone wrong, very wrong."

George recounted the events of that morning, anxiety growing with every passing moment. EC was listening, chewing her stubby nails nervously, and trying to think of a solution to the new problem. John, however, was furious at George's mishap.

"How could ye be so bloody fuckin' careless?" he burst out, George shrinking a bit in fear, "Ye put me at danger, and worse, ye put EC in danger!" He was about to continue the enraged rant when EC stepped in.

"John, stop. Geo did good keeping those records hidden for almost two years, and was about to get rid of 'em for good."

"But-"

"But nothing," she said stubbornly, then softened her voice, "We'll find a way to get through, yeah? We always do."

Slowly, the fury died in John's eyes, replaced with hopelessness.

"I knew this would happen, sometime or another," he muttered, "I knew I couldn't get off scot-free."

EC bit her lip. Years ago, John had almost been blamed for her mother's murder, and rather than let her go into a foster family, he had taken her with him and taken care of her in the only way he could, not having parents or money. He'd been keeping an eye out for her ever since.

But John always felt the law would catch up with him, and although he only stole from those rich enough not to miss a few dollars, it seemed theft was still theft.

"Geo, time for plan B," he said, defeat heavy in his voice, "I'm off."

EC started to follow him and his heart broke. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, then stopped.

"Geo," he finally stated, and George came up to take EC by the shoulders as John walked off.

"George? Georgie, where's he going? George! George Harrison, where's he going?"

George hesitated. "To make a plea bargain."

John ignored the screaming as he walked away, having to break out in a run to stop himself from turning around. This was going to end, damnit, and he wasn't going to drag Ems into it.

* * *

Paul was asleep, head on desk. Snoring, actually. First good sleep he'd gotten in a long time. At least, it was, until a loud crash awoke both him and Courtney, who had drank enough chocolate wine for a whole ship's crew in celebration of their lead, had crashed on the floor.

Paul, paper stuck to his face, dashed into the main room. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the remnants of the chocolate wine bottle.

"How did tha get way out 'ere?" Paul muttered, noticing something odd as he drew closer to the shards. In their midst was a small note, slightly stained by some leftover wine.

"Willing to make a deal. Meet me at Abbey Road, 1:00 AM. –JL"

Both were speechless.

Paul turned it over, seeing there was something on the back as well.

"No funny business. Just you two and me."

Both stood in silent shock, looking at this little wine-stained note. having just gotten a breakthrough in the case and now…this? What even IS this?

"I'm… I'm not still dreaming, am I?" Courtney whispered, studying the words.

Paul silently shook his head.

"Look," Courtney said, pointing at a line, "Says 'jus ye two and me.' The other isn't coming."

Paul studied the note. "Bet he's hoping to sacrifice himself for the other," he muttered.

"Can he do tha?" Courtney asked, worried that only one criminal would be brought to justice.

"Technically, yeah. But if one of 'em gives up, the other's likely to come running to break 'em out."

"Thick as thieves, eh?" Courtney said, still a bit intoxicated.

"Very punny, Moonie," he said as Courtney had a giggle fit, "tell ye what, ye go home, have a nice hangover, and I'll take care of the paperwork here, alright? Meet ye back tomorrow?"

"Okay, Paulie!" she said, still giggling a bit as Paul hailed her a taxi and told the driver where to go.

* * *

When Paul came back to the office, he began paging through one of the files Harrison had dropped earlier. It was a case file on a murder from seven years ago. A murder case. It seemed their thief was the main suspect for the case, and the victim had left behind a daughter that disappeared…

He knew there was no possibility that all of this was a coincidence. And if he was right, their mystery thief was very closely related to this case.

In the morning, the force decided that McCartney and Muenchow would indeed go and agree to the plea terms; however, if the other thief did attempt to rescue their partner, they would be arrested for breaking and entering, and likely prosecuted for their other actions as well.

Paul was nervous as hell. Everything had to be perfect. Courtney could have sworn he was going to give himself a coronary before they even got in the cruiser, much less to Abbey Road. Unlike her partner, she wasn't nervous, just determined. Paul had filled her in on the case and it seemed as though he'd be playing the bad cop, baiting the criminal into doing or saying something that would help prosecute him.

All was well. The two officers stood in the lamplight, waiting for their man to show, watching every movement, hands ready to grasp their guns at any second.

At 1:30, he finally showed, dirty mop entering the lamplight, his typical smirk plastered on his face.

"Decided to show, eh? I was beginning to worry," Paul said, pushing himself off the lamp.

John shrugged. "Fashionably late, and all tha shite," he said.

"So what's the deal here, Lennon?" Courtney asked, already a bit impatient with his actions.

John's smirk disappeared and his demeanor changed into a deathly serious one. "Ye lot can take me in, I'll plead guilty, save ye a lot of time and money."

"And the catch?" Paul asked, although he already knew what it would be.

"Ye let me accomplice go free," he stated.

"Funny how ye'd say tha, rather than a shortened sentence…" Paul said thoughtfully.

"Ye must be pretty close," Courtney stated.

John shrugged. "Doesn't this usually start back at yer little station place? When ye've got me officially in custody?" The smirk reappeared.

"Well, ye're a special case, Lennon," Paul said, taking a step forward, "Speakin of special cases, I'll bet ye remember one from seven years ago. As I heard it, ye were pretty important…"

"I dunno what ye're talking about," John stated, trying to keep calm byu telling himself that he'd done nothing wrong.

"Oh, I think ye do, Lennon," Paul said, knowing he'd likely caught the criminal off-guard with his knowledge of the case.

"Seven years ago, ye were pretty heavily involved in a murder case," Courtney pushed, "The prime suspect, as I recall."

John's smirk turned to a snarl. "I was cleared of those charges. Ye've got nothing on me for tha."

"Take it easy, Mr. Lennon," Paul said, a smirk across his own face, "We haven't even gotten to the interesting part in our story. Supposedly, a girl lost her mum in tha case."

"A girl nobody's seen since," Courtney finished triumphantly.

"And ye're saying she'd go with me, after I supposedly killed her mum?" John said, forcing sarcasm into his voice and trying desperately not to lose it completely.

"Went with, forced, kidnapped…" Paul listed off, watching closely for the impact of his words. John was a proud man, and likely would have asked Officer McCartney how he dared say he'd do anything like that to his Ems, but he was interrupted just as he opened his mouth.

"Ye lot get away from me Johnny, ye bloody arses!" EC had been sitting on a rooftop, watching patiently for the right time to strike a diversion.

At first, everyone was frozen at the appearance of the second thief, but John quickly recovered and ran as hard as he could into the shadows.

"Courtney, get John!" Paul yelled, already on his way up to the rooftop.

Officer Muenchow took off without hesitation after her culprit.

John didn't know alleyways, and found himself on the wrong side of a gate. He was trapped. Heart pounding, he heard the approaching footsteps of the officer and pressed himself against the bars.

EC was trying to find John, and attempting to lose Officer McCartney in the London rooftops at the same time. Realizing he must have gotten lost, she doubled back under a fire escape, putting some distance between them.

Finally, she found John cornered at the gate, Officer Muenchow about to apprehend him

"John!" she yelled, tossing down a steel cutter she kept for heists.

John smiled as he caught the device, knowing it was his ticket to freedom…

Paul, seeing the culprit slow to toss the item, put on an extra burst of speed…

Courtney, seeing something being tossed to John that looked like a gun in the darkness, pulled her own firearm…

EC, seeing Officer Muenchow's movement, screamed and jumped from the rooftop…

"John!"

"Freeze!"

BANG!

EC fell from the rooftop, to Officer Muenchow's shoulder, her arm making an audible crack as the officer and herself hit the pavement. He fall had altered the trajectory of Muenchow's bullet, which went straight through Lennon's back as he turned to work on the chain, and passing through his lung.

John cried out at the sudden white-hot pain as the bullet passed through his chest, falling to the ground as twin holes began to bleed, filling his lung and staining his already filthy leather jacket. Moaning in pain, he turned to see EC standing above Officer Muenchow, who was still on the ground, looking at him in total terror.

Struggling to get a good breath, he uttered only one word. "…Run…"

And EC did. She fled down the alleyway, noticing soon enough that her arm was broken and hurt like bloody hell.

Paul was shocked at the criminal's leap, and found himself unable to move for a moment. However, he was soon flying down from the rooftop to help his partner.

Courtney groaned in pain as she attempted to push herself up. The bloody maniac had managed to almost mangle her shoulder in her suicidal jump. Before long, Paul was at her side, helping her up.

"That wasn't a gun, ye bloody git!" Paul yelled, "Jesus Christ, are ye mad?"

Courtney moaned in response.

Paul sighed. "Congratulations, ye've managed to kill the man we've been tracking for months."

John coughed.

"Bloody fuckin hell."

John tried not to think about the thick liquid in his mouth. He just had to get to Ems. That's the one thing he needed to do. He wasn't aware of the set of hands that grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep him in place. He promised he'd take care of her. He promised.

"He won't. Stop. Moving!" Paul growled to Courtney, "He's making it bleed more! Goddamnit!"

Courtney was radioing for help, trying not to watch the almost spastic movements of the man she'd just shot.

"Courtney, ye gotta help me here!" Paul yelled as John struggled against him, still coughing blood.

Courtney limped over to John, having gotten her knee jammed into the pavement. She took the side of John's face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Stop," she growled. Somewhat like one would do to a badly behaved dog.

Maybe it was he blood loss, maybe it was the authority, but he stopped. Ems was hurt and he couldn't protect her. He'd kept her safe for so long and now…

His vision began to go dark. He tried to focus on the blue eyes staring at him, tried to stay awake… but he couldn't. The last thing John Lennon saw that night were blue eyes, accompanied by sirens in the background.


	14. Beatles Cops Part II

_Author's Note: Still warnings for language!_

**Beatles Cops Part II**

Geo was there, rebandaging her arm. Again. He sighed as he looked at her, sitting in a daze from the illegal painkillers. He sighed, he didn't know the first thing about mending broken bones. He needed help. He needed John's help… Oh, John…

He was taken out of his melancholy stupor by EC, squeaking as she put weight on her injured arm.

"Don't do tha!" he said, looking at her like she was daft.

"Hehe, okays, Georgie Worgie," she giggled.

George groaned. HE couldn't do this. Bloody cops, if they-

Wait a tic, the cops!

'Course Officer McCartney would know all about this type of thing! The only problem was getting him to abandon his job for a few moments…

"Ouch!"

"Will ye stop tha already?"

Hmm… But maybe he wouldn't have to go to Officer McCartney after all…

* * *

Back at the police station, Officer Muenchow was getting laid off.

"Can't be shooting every criminal, me arse," she muttered, slamming her desk drawer.

Paul sat in silence, not quite knowing what to think. It was definitely going to be awkward for a while.

"if ye ever need anything…" Paul started, only to be cut off by his former partner.

"Save it, Macca. I don't need yer money," she growled.

Paul put his hands up in surrender.

Courtney sighed. "'m sorry, Paul."

"No hard feelings, love. Ye seen 'im yet today?"

"Nah, I figured I'd take a look on the way out."

Courtney had been visiting Lennon every day after the incident. She was lucky the hospital was only a block away, otherwise it would have been a long walk to the nearest one in Mayfair. Lennon had been in a coma almost all week, only waking up once for a few seconds.

However, as Courtney entered the room, a certain pencil-pushing rookie was sitting there.

"'ello, Officer Muenchow!" George Harrison called, cheery as always.

"Ex-officer," Courtney corrected bitterly, "Why are ye even here anyways?"

George shrugged. "To be honest, cos I knew ye'd be around. Ye see, I've got a problem, and I'd really like yer help-"

"'m not like tha, Geo," Courtney growled, rolling her eyes for good measure.

George coughed a bit in surprise. "Tha's… Tha's not what I meant. At all."

"Oh?"

"No. I meant, me friend's managed to get a bit of an injury, ye see, and… Well, to be honest once again, I can't keep giving her illegal painkillers."

Courtney was beginning to see the problem. "And I suppose a hospital's out of the question for yer particular patient?"

Geo smirked. "That'd be an accurate assumption, yeah."

Courtney paused. It had been her duty to bring criminals to justice, and they had booted her out for a single (if indeed serious) mistake. She couldn't suppress the need to turn against the organization that had thrown her into the streets.

"Alrigh, but just this once," she said, growling out the last part in her most authorative voice.

Geo chuckled nervously and got up. "Tha's all I asked, love. Follow me."

George led Courtney to the HQ, slipping through a thin crack in some rocks.

"Welcome to the Headquarters," he muttered, finding EC coming down off the medication. And having torn open the skin on her broken arm.

"What the ruddy hell did ye do?" George yelled, attempting to examine the multiple cuts she'd managed to inflict.

"There was bugs… Under me skin…" she replied slowly, looking around, "Johnny…? Where'd ye go?"

George cursed under his breath.

Courtney recognized the girl as the thief she encountered a week ago, her shoulder pain still serving as evidence to the encounter. However, looking at the girl hopped up on opiates, sitting against the wall of an abandoned subway station with a bleeding and broken arm… That was a bit worse.

"She can't stay here," she said, thinking out loud, "She'll get it infected and God knows what'll happen after tha."

"So… What'll we do?" George asked, attempting to rebandage the arm of the squirming girl.

Courtney had an idea, a mad idea, but what seemed like the only option.

"What about McCartney's place?"

For a moment, George just stared. "Are ye bloody BARMY?" he yelled, "McCartney's a devoted police officer! He'll turn 'er in the second 'e sees 'er!"

"Well, 's a better idea than jus leavin her to die, innit?" Courtney retorted.

Slowly, the shock began to leave Geo's face, leaving him looking hollow. "Argh. Guess tha's it, then."

"Paul won't turn 'er in. He's-er, was me partner. He'll do jus about anything to help me," Courtney assured him. Helping Geo drag EC to her feet, she hoped she was right.

* * *

Now, McCartney's flat was your average London apartment. Not too big, a sort-of sitting room, a kitchen and all that. Fairly orderly as well.

Until it was raided by George, Courtney and EC.

Courtney knew he had a bad habit of leaving his door unlocked, and sure enough, the flat was unguarded and all for the taking. Geo set about finding food while Courtney cleaned up EC's arm.

"'s not heads quarters…" she mttered spacily, George's last dose of opiates doing their job, "Where's Johnny?"

Courtney paused. "Er, he'll be along."

"Oh."

* * *

Paul's life was fairly normal outside of his uniform, so he fully expected to come home to his flat unoccupied and clean.

This was not the case.

Paul stood in the doorway and stared at George munching on a doughnut, Courtney trying to keep an apparently uncooperative EC still while she cleaned her wound.

"What the bloody hell's goin on?" He cried, more out of surprise rather than anger.

"Who's tha bloke? He's cute," EC said airily from her spot, upside down in an armchair.

Paul blushed a bit, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of the spaced-out girl in his chair. "Uhm, ta."

"Paul, meet Emily, better known as EC," Courtney said, gesturing to the medicated girl, "She's also high as a kite at the moment."

"Johnny calls me his Ems," she giggled.

"Johnny…?" Paul said, piecing together the identity of the girl one bit at a time.

"Paul, wait-"

"Tha's her! Tha's the other thief!"

"Paul, hold on-"

"This is gear! Now we can-"

"JAMES PAUL MCCARTNEY!"

"What?"

"Will ye please shut up and listen?"

Paul looked at her, confusion written all over his face.

There was a thumo as EC fell off her chair and onto the floor. She kept giggling.

"I know who she is, but ye can't turn her in," Courtney said, righting the convict.

"What? Don't be daft, I have to! We both have to!"

Courtney sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

Geo spoke up. "Think, Paul, what'll happen when ye turn her in like this, eh? She'll get hounded by the press, they'll condemn John, ye may as well be signing her death sentence." He took another bite of his doughnut.

Paul struggled with that one; two conflicting morals battled it out in his head.

"Hehe, he's got the same eyes as me!" EC laughed.

Paul sighed. "Fine. But as soon as she's healed, 'm taking her in."

"Fine."

"Sure."

"Meow!"

It was obvious to all that Paul was going to have a rough time. However, the arrangement gave Courtney an idea.

"Paul, what if Lennon didn't really kill Mrs. Carda?"

"What? Don't be daft."

"I'm not! What if there was someone else involved that night?"

The light bulb in Paul's head lit up. "But wait… What'm I gonna do with her during the day? I can't exactly take her with me."

"Ye can drug her up," George offered.

Both Paul and Courtney glared at him.

"Sorry. Jus trying to help," he muttered.

"He may have a point…" Courtney said, looking at the drugged-up thief that was currently sprawled out across Paul's arm chair, about to begin scratching at the "bugs" under her skin again, "Otherwise she'll jus keep doing tha."

George hurried over and held her arm away, sighing as she giggled at the tingles it caused.

"Can't ye watch her?" Paul whined, not exactly eager to become a babysitter.

"No, I've got to go out and find the facts of the murder case."

"I can do tha!"

"Yeah, cos the bird tha visited John every day in the hospital an got fired is DEFINITELY not gonna be the first suspect on the list," Courtney said, rolling her eyes.

"Johnny!"

"Ye can always take a sick day, at least for tomorrow," Geo offered.

Paul groaned, leaning up against the occupied piece of furniture. EC twisted around to look at him.

"'Ello," Paul muttered.

* * *

Considering he hadn't been sick for the past three years he'd been in the force, it was fairly easy for the chief to buy his story.

His day of taking care of the thief began with pained moans. Lots of them.

"Ooooooooh…" EC moaned. What had happened? Her arm hurt even worse than befo- wait a tic… Something wasn't right… This wasn't her pile of rags. in fact, it wasn't a pile of rags at all.

"Oh, God," she muttered, trying to sit up. This ended in louder moans of pain.

"'Morning, sunshine," Paul muttered sarcastically, leaning on the doorframe. His back hurt from sleeping on the floor, but he wasn't so heartless as to make the injured criminal sleep there instead.

EC jumped, which illicited more moans, plus a curse or two. "What happened?" she finally muttered.

"Ye broke yer arm savin' yer accomplice, Harrison got ye hopped up on illegal opiates, and ye managed to shred yer arm trying to scratch at 'bugs'," he said, going over to inspect her arm, "Harrison asked me partner to fix yer arm, she said ye had to stay here, and we shagged."

"WHAT?" EC screamed, jerking away from Officer McCartney.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Kidding, love. Now sit still."

EC growled and begrudgingly let the police officer check her arm out.

"Yeah, we'll need to rebandage tha. Come 'ead," he said, helping the thief.

"Ta, officer," EC said, wincing at the pain.

"Paul."

"Hm?"

"Me name's Paul. Ye may as well use it," he said flatly.

"Right then. Ta, Paul," she said, pausing as he searched for bandages, "Mine's EC."

"Alrigh, EC, ye may want to find yer happy place. This is gonna hurt."

* * *

At the hospital, Courtney leaned up against the patient's bed, poring over the case file. Something just didn't add up here, all they had on John was a few prints on a window frame and a witness statement from a man named Richard, who was no angel himself, and had been suspected of being part of a crime ring.

She growled, the lack of evidence frustrating her. She instinctively knew John wouldn't have done anything to hurt the bird he'd been protecting (according to Harrison) since the incident.

Lennon mumbled in his sleep. His hand moved up to where the bullet had passed through his lung, his face scrunching up at his dream.

Courtney wondered what was going on in his mind before returning to the file.

* * *

_John's chest hurt. Every breath hurt like hell. He was suffocating; he was positive this was the end… but he lived. Or something. He could see Ems, but something was wrong. She was crying. John tried to get closer, but stopped when something hit his chest, right where it hurt the worst. He looked up to see two cops; not just any two cops, but THOSE two cops. They were grinning. Big, chesire cat-style grins. They had her, his Ems, the girl that was like his little sister. He had to save her, but before he could, he heard a shot, and the pain exploded in his chest. Just like it had that night… that night… Oh no, God no! And he saw those eyes, those blue grey eyes._

* * *

And John woke up, yelling, "No! Bloody hell, No!"

Courtney fell out of her chair with a scream of surprise. "Bloody hell!"

John whipped his head around, trying to piece together where he was.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" John yelled, apparently not giving a damn if the whole hospital heard him.

"Ye're in London's biggest hospital, so keep it down!" Courtney said, gathering the pages that had gone flying.

John turned to look at her, making a small sound as his just-healed muscles stretched. "An jus who are ye?"

"Officer Muenchow, an I don't appreciate yer tone, ta," she said, her voice raising to match John's.

"Officer!" he growled, recognizing her, "Ye're the bloody nit tha shot me! Where's Ems? What've ye done to 'er?" His voice getting louder with each exclamation.

"Shut it!" Courtney said, trying to keep herself from slapping John right across his face, "She's fine. She broke her arm from jumping, so Officer McCartney's taking care of her."

"Ye left 'er with tha prick?" John demanded, tensing up.

"Excuse me, but 'tha prick' is me partner, and more capable of taking care of 'er than yerself!"

"An jus how do ye reckon tha?"

"Ye've been in a coma for a week!"

John stopped. "…A week?"

"Yes."

He hated to admit it, but if the officer was telling the truth, she was right; even a bloody police officer would be doing better than him.

Courtney watched his face go from complete rage to numb, and was a bit frightened by the complete change in demeanor. "Ye alrigh?"

"…Yeah… She's okay, though, yeah?"

"Other than the broken arm, she's fine."

"An tha McCartney git won't hurt 'er."

"Cross me heart and hope to die."

John just nodded. Everything was gone. He'd kept her safe and free for this long, and then tripped up in the home stretch. And now he was going to go to prison.

"'ello?" Earth to Lennon."

John realized he'd been zoning out. "Sorry?"

"I said, I've got a bit of a proposition for ye. I don't think ye committed the murder all those years ago," Courtney said, waving the case file in her hand.

John narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Courtney continued, "Deal is, ye an EC help to solve this case here, an ye both go free. Well, maybe some fines for petty theft, but otherwise scot-free."

John thought for a moment. "…Alrigh, ye've piqued me interest. What 'm I gonna have to do?"

Courtney smirked a bit. Like shooting a fish in a barrel. "Ye help me find who really killed EC's mum."

"An we're both free to go?"

"Free as a bird."

John smiled. "Alrigh, but first I have to let a certain bullet wound heal."

Courtney sighed. She could tell he wasn't going to ever let her forget that. Ever.

* * *

The next day, Paul convinced his superiors that he should be John's guard, now that he was conscious, and managed to sneak EC in as well.

"Johnny!" EC screamed, hugging her friend as best she could with one good arm.

Paul glared.

"'ey, love!" John said, wincing just a bit, then returning Paul's glare, "Tha git hasn't done anything to ye, has he?"

EC was completely oblivious. "Course not! He's been helpin heal me arm!"

While the two caught up, Courtney took a moment to talk with her partner. Or rather, AT her partner. Paul wasn't listening.

"…Are ye even listening to me, Macca?" she snapped.

"Wha- Oh! 'Course I am!" he said, not evening looking at her.

Admittedly, Courtney was avoiding looking at the pair for the same reason Paul was staring so intently at the two, feeling an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Over the course of the day, her conversations with John had exposed his wit, and also the little-seen soft side of the street-hardened thief.

John was switching between returning Paul's glare and staring at Officer Muenchow.

EC smirked at his painfully obvious attraction to the policewoman. "So, ye fancy the police bird?"

"Wh-what? No! 'Course not! How d'ye reckon tha?" John sputtered defensively.

EC giggled.

"What about ye an tha Paul git? He's been glaring at me the whole bloody time! I think he's jealous," he said with a smirk, waving a bit at the officer.

EC rolled her eyes. "Yeah, John, he's completely taken with ye, 'm sure."

"Ruddy queer, he is."

Courtney and Paul rejoined the thieves then, Courtney ready to discuss the plan she'd thought out.

"Right, the way I see it, this Richard character's got a lot more to do with the case than just being a witness," she said, taking out a photo of a man with a large nose and deceivingly innocent eyes.

EC stared at the photo, her eyes growing wider. She knew that man. She knew that man all too well. That was the man that had been hanging around that night…

* * *

_This was it, tonight she was gonna run away with John. He said she couldn't live there anymore; the house was slowly killing her, and she needed to be free. She knew this, and knew John would take care of her until she came back._

_ Suddenly, a familiar brown mop appeared at the window, a set of brown eyes peeking over the sill._

_ EC was ready-just needed one last thing. She motioned for John to come in, and together they crept down the stairs to get a special postcard from the kitchen; the only reminder of her old life aside from her coat, and an emergency way of contacting her mum._

_ However, the kitchen was not in its usual pristine state. Instead, it was covered with blood, and reeked of death._

_ EC almost screamed, but John covered her mouth before she had the chance, motioning for her to stay, he creeped into the kitchen, and was confronted with a knife. EC did scream then, fleeing up the steps as she heard something crack (which, as it turned out, had been John punching the man as he tried to take after EC._

_ EC had fled the scene in time… However, John hadn't been so lucky. She'd seen him come running out of the house as sirens approached, leaving bloody footprints in the yard. When he got to EC, he told her to go to the place he'd shown her the day they played hooky together, and wait for George. With that, he tore across the neighborhood, luring them away from EC's position._

* * *

EC gasped when she felt two hands shaking her shoulders, and snapped out of her trance-like state. Paul was in front of her, looking very concerned.

"Get off 'er, ye loony!" John growled. He would've normally beat anyone that dared touch his EC, but his injury prevented him from doing much of anything.

"Piss off," Paul retorted, then turned back to EC, "Ye alrigh, EC?"

She nodded slowly.

"There, now back off," John growled.

Paul sat next to EC as she recovered.

"Right then," Courtney said, rubbing her hands together, "Visiting hours are almost over, so let's all go home and get ready for some serious business tomorrow, yeah?"

Paul nodded, taking EC's hand.

Her face got a hint pinker, but it looked normal since she'd blanched during her flashback.

"But what if I don't trust 'im with her?" John complained, even though they'd already left.

"She'd perfectly alrigh. Paul's the most trustworthy person I know."

John pouted, bearing a striking resemblance to a young child with his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed.

Courtney grinned a bit. "I think ye jus don't want to be left alone," she teased.

"…So?" John muttered. He never did like hospitals, and definitely wouldn't mind the company of a certain pretty bird.

Courtney didn't know how to respond to that one. As much as she wanted to stay, the hospital staff would never allow it. "Er, sorry… 's against the policy… I can't stay."

John hmphed.

"G'nigh, then," Courtney said, turning to leave.

"What? No good nigh kiss or nothing? Oh, ye break me heart, ye do," John said, Lennon smirk back on his face.

"An I suppose ye want me to tuck ye in too?"

"Tha'd be nice."

Courtney chuckled. "Nigh, John." To be honest, she wouldn't have minded giving him a kiss.

* * *

'I'm warm, for once. Nice and warm…' EC thought as she slowly awoke, not quite wanting to get up yet. Suddenly, she realized she's not the only person in bed.

She froze up, terrified of who she was with and where she was… Until she remembered that it was only Paul, face buried in her hair and arm thrown around her waist.

She blushed a bit, not wanting to move but not wanting to face Paul when he woke up. Finally, she decided to stay where she was and drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming about the man that held her.

* * *

Courtney waltzed into Paul's flat, becoming quite worried when she saw both the kitchen and couch uninhabited.

"Paul?" she said, making her way around the flat, and finally coming to Paul's bedroom, "Paul, ye better hope ye didn't do what I think ye did," she mumbled, thinking of John's likely murderous reaction.

She nudged the door open, hardly bearing to look.

"JAMES PAUL MCCARTNEY!"

Paul jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"Wha? Wha happened? Wha's wrong?" Paul said as he whipped his head around frantically, searching for any danger, but only finding his irate partner.

But, of course, she was dangerous in her own right.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YE THINKING, YE-"

Paul had practically thrown himself across the room and clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Sh!"

Fortunately, EC could likely sleep through a bomb raid, and he forced his rather unccoperative colleague into the next room.

"Now, jus let me-"

"Do ye have ANY idea wha John's gonna do to ye?"

"Look, 's not like tha, alrigh?" Paul said, trying to calm her down long enough to tell her what happened.

"Well, then, wha IS it like, McCartney? Cos it looks like ye jus took advantage of 'er!" she snarled.

Paul rolled his eyes. "No, she was jus freaked out after 'er little episode yesterday an she didn't wanna be left alone."

Courtney glared.

"Cross me heart an hope to die."

"…Alrigh. But if John comes after ye, don't come runnin to me. Now get dressed. Ye look weird in jus yer boxers."

* * *

EC was cold again. She curled up, trying to regain the heat that had left. Her mind hazily registered the fact that she was short one warm scouse, and figured she'd been dreaming the whole time. However, when she opened her eyes to see said scouse pulling on some trousers, her heart just about stopped. She snapped her eyes closed again, desperately wanting a peek, but not daring to. Not until she felt a hand on her shoulder and a voice telling her to wake up.

EC opened one sleep-filled eye, blinking a few times before opening the other as well.

Paul almost couldn't resist the urge to lean down and kiss her.

'Think of tha git. Think of what he'd do to ye.'

"Time to get up, love. We've gotta go out an get looking about for tha Starkey arse," he said.

"Okay," EC replied, her voice raspy, "Ta for stayin by me, Paul. Means a lot.

'There's things worse than death, McCartney, much worse.'

"Don't mention it, love."

He mentally cursed John as he walked out.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, both pairs worked diligently to fond their suspect. Paul and EC doing the grunt work, and Courtney and John spending long hours looking for potential evidence. Mostly Courtney in the latter partnership.

"John, cut it out."

"Gimme one good reason."

"Cos 's annoying an doesn't help in the least."

"Tha' all ye got?"

"'s a reason, innit?"

"Oh ho ho! Is the lil police officer getting touchy?"

"John, do ye need to be sent to the naughty corner?"

"What can I say? 'M a naughty boy."

Courtney snorted. That man was the most frustrating person on the planet sometimes.

He illustrated this perfectly by poking the side of her head repeatedly.

"John…" she started.

"Can't be helped, love. Ye're simply too cute when ye're mad," he smirked, knowing she couldn't stay mad at him when he said things like that. That's not to say he didn't mean it; she really was terribly cute when he got her ticked off.

He rested his head on top of hers. He'd been doing that a lot lately… of course, Courtney wasn't complaining.

The room was silent for a while.

"Courtney?" John asked, his demeanor suddenly very serious.

"Yeah, love?"

"What're we gonna do when we find this arsehole?"

"Paul'll arrest "im," she replied simply.

"I meant after tha."

Courtney paused. "…I dunno…"

Silence.

"An… I s'pose I'll jus go back to livin wherever?"

"No! Of course not!" Courtney said, appalled at the idea of John going back to his former residence, "In fact, I'd let ye stay with me. I-if ye want to, tha is."

"…I'd like tha."

That was it. No jokes, no sarcastic comments, just those three words. And somehow, they managed to make Courtney giddy.

John cleared his throat. "Erm… Actually… I guess what I was asking is… Well, if ye wanted to… I dunno…"

Courtney's stomach had managed to acquire a few thousand butterflies as he spoke, waiting for that one question…

John and Courtney jumped as Paul burst into the room, EC at his side. Both were gasping for breath, like they'd been running for miles.

Finally, Paul managed to find his breath. "We've found him."

"Who?" John growled, angry at being cut off.

"Starkey, of course!" Paul snarled back, "Jus the bastard we've been lookin for the past month or so!"

EC put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he and John could get into a fight.

"We found tha he's hidin out at an old warehouse in Manchester," she finished.

"Manchester? That's hours away!" Courtney said, thinking of how much time they'd have before the staff were top realize John had gone missing.

"Exactly, so we'll need to move fast," Paul said, fidgeting. He didn't like the plan, didn't like it at all. The plan in question involved EC and Courtney scouting ahead, with John following after them, since there was the most risk Richard would recognize him. Finally, Paul would move in for the arrest, and (assuming everything went according to plan) Richard would be in custody by nightfall.

Of course, this meant that EC and Courtney would be sharing the most dangerous part of the mission, and that was the part Paul couldn't stand. If something happened…

He couldn't bring himself to think of it.

Mere moments later, everyone had piled in a van and taken off for Manchester, on the way to the arrest they'd been working on for more than a month.

John was trying not to show it, but he was a wreck. His injury was still painful, and that meant if he over-exerted himself, he could very well reopen the wound in his lung, and it'd be all over. He watched fitfully as they crossed the Manchester bridge.

Courtney was in a similar state, with a bit more of a rush. This was it. If they made this arrest, John's name would be cleared and… maybe he would get around to asking her whatever it was he had started earlier. The thought of what it could be gave her a thrill, and she let the acceleration go a bit harder.

EC was all-out adrenaline high. She'd been on plenty of heists with Johnny, and she knew exactly how things went. She may have to look after that cop, she decided, but otherwise, this was going to be fun. She just had to keep an eye on Paul; she wasn't sure she could sleep without the scouser anymore, and she sure didn't want to try it.

Arriving in Manchester, they stowed the van in a convenience store parking lot. After going through the plan, EC and Courtney headed for the nearby warehouse, and residence of a certain murderer.

Paul and John had doughnuts.

EC and Courtney snuck in through a ventilation shaft, crawling through what seemed like miles of metal and loud fan noises, before finally landing on top of some crates in a shadowy corner of the warehouse. They were in.

* * *

"So…" Paul said, tired of just waiting for Courtney to radio him.

"Look, ye, jus what're yer motives with Ems?" John said, taking a fierce bite of his powdered doughnut.

Paul was taken off guard. "W-wha?"

"Ye heard me."

"Uh, I dunno, she's jus stayin with me…" Paul sputtered, trying to think of the right words.

"Ye haven't shagged 'er then?" John said, glaring daggers at Paul.

"What? No!"

John paused. "Good. Cos if ye're gonna go an break 'er heart, ye've got another thing comin."

Paul was insulted. "I'd never hurt her, ye bastard! An jus what're ye doin with Courtney, anyroad?"

John almost choked on his doughnut. "…Ahem, 'scuse me?"

"Well? I've seen the way ye look at her! Are ye gonna straighten out, or am I gonna have to kick yer arse straight for ye?"

"Tha won't be necessary," John muttered. He'd happily do that and more for Courtney any day.

Suddenly, the radio came on.

"Lemon," it stated.

"Well, go on," Paul said, although John had already started to stand up, "An be careful, yeah? I don't want Courtney dealin with a broken heart either."

John nodded and ran off.

* * *

Courtney and EC were looking down an aisle created by stacked crates, a light shining down the center. He was walking down it. Richard Starkey. It all came down to this.

He looked up at them and grinned. EC knew something had gone wrong, and followed her instinct to high-tail it while Courtney chose to put Starkey in her crosshairs.

"Before ye shoot, I should probably warn ye tha me mates won't take it well."

Courtney lowered her gun and fled as well, dodging around two men that had moved into place to try and capture her.

'Like I'd be that easy to catch,' she thought, jumping down onto a different level.

Of course, she didn't see the ex-military sniper that was waiting for his chance to take a shot.

* * *

EC was on the run, trying desperately to get back. She had to get to Paul and John, she had to get back to the ventilation shaft.

One of the henchmen from below smashed a crate that Starkey had placed for that occasion, and she jumped, scrambling for something to hold onto as she fell.

Starkey laughed. Everything was going well.

"J-john! S-somethin's gone wrong!" the radio in John's hand hissed.

"Oh, God," John panicked, "Courtney! Courtney, love, what happened? Where are ye?"

No reply.

John cursed and sprinted back to Paul.

"McCartney! Somethin's wrong!" he cried, his lungs burning.

Paul's heart sank into his stomach. "What do ye mean, wrong?" he replied, standing up from the curb.

"I dunno, Courtney jus called and said somethin was wrong an she won't answer an-" John was about to continue his panicked rambling when the radio came back to life.

But it wasn't Courtney's voice from the other end.

"Ello, lads," a distinctly male Liverpudlian voice cackled, "Me mates an I seem to've caught a few birds in me warehouse."

Paul and John were frozen.

"Pretty little things, too. Would really be a shame if something were to happen to 'em."

"Ye bastard," John whispered, although Richard hadn't finished yet.

"Of course, no matter how pretty they are, they were trespassin, an I jus can't have that."

"Ye bastard!" John said, getting louder.

"Tick tock, lads," Richard snickered.

"Ye bloody fucking bastard!" John yelled. He was scared to death, not knowing what Richard was going to do to Courtney, and not sure he could do much about it, but determined to strangle the hell out of anyone that so much as TOUCHED her. "Well, McCartney? What're we gonna do?"

Paul looked dazed. He didn't know what to do. EC, the girl he had helped recover and slept beside for almost a month, was in the hands of a murderer, who was probably all too eager to slit her throat.

John was shaking him violently. "Goddamnit, PAUL! Snap the bloody hell out of it!" he snarled, "Pull yerself together, man!"

Paul blinked, coming out of it a little. "I…I dunno."

* * *

Courtney was in a dark room. This was where her captors had thrown her, blood streaming from a hole in her arm.

Suddenly the door opened and revealed a blinding shaft of light. And in stepped Richard Starkey, crooked smile across his face. Cold blue eyes locked on her.

"Ello, love. How's yer little injury there?"

Courtney didn't acknowledge him.

"Y'know, yer friends are gonna be coming in a minute."

Courtney looked up, hoping to God he didn't mean Johnny.

"I figured we oughta give "em a little surprise," he said, his grin turning to a bloodthirsty snarl, "Shame yer prints are gonna be on the gun tha kills tha John boy."

Courtney's heart stopped. He couldn't make her shoot him… could he?

"Course, ye've already shot 'im once, haven't ye?"

Courtney leaped at him, crying out as he grabbed the part of her arm the bullet had passed through.

"I don't think so," he growled wrenching her arm and sending her to the ground. With that, he left.

With the other bird being unconscious until the officer's arrival, Richard pulled out a cig and lit it, smirking as he blew smoke into the air. It didn't what they tried to do; they were all going to die, one way or another.

He was notified of the officer's capture first. It seemed he'd had some fight in him, and managed to crack the skull of one of his workers.

"Damn," he muttered. They didn't come cheap.

But no matter, it was time for him to play a game with Mr. McCartney, and he intended to have some fun.

* * *

It seemed like forever since Courtney had seen the light, and she liked it that way. The longer the light stayed out, the longer John would have to live.

But all things must come to an end, and the light finally did return, two men coming in and gagging her before dragging her from her solitude. She was brought to a shadowy alcove beneath some crates, one man shoving a gun into her grip, the other twisting her arm and pressing the barrel of another gun to her head.

"It's shoot or get shot," one said quietly, not wanting to alert their prey with his gravelly voice.

Courtney nodded. And they all waited for their quarry to arrive.

* * *

Paul was goose-stepped to a large room-type area. When he was finally released, his hand immediately flew to his holster… finding it empty.

Someone chuckled from across the room. "A little unprepared, McCartney?" Richard stood there, an unmoving EC on the ground.

Paul's breath caught in his throat, and he made one step towards her.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Richard exclaimed, his cold eyes glittering like those of a cat who has just caught a mouse, "I wouldn't do that."

"An why not?" Paul spat, desperate to help her.

Richard produced a knife. "Because with each step you take, I get to inflict a bit more damage on her."

Paul froze up.

"Of course, you could just kill me, if you can get to the gun without killing her," he said, gesturing to a table in one corner of the room.

* * *

There John was, sprinting across the crates, probably trying to save her. In her mind, she begged him to turn back, to run away, anything but keep running. On of her captors forced her to take a bead on him, the other pressing the cold barrel of his gun into her temple.

* * *

Paul was terrified. There was no way he could win, no matter what happened, EC was going to die.

"Tick tock, Mr. McCartney," Richard said, waving his knife so it caught the light, "Even if you don't move, she'll get hurt. It's just a matter of how much blood she can lose before bleeding out."

He couldn't move.

"Tha's too bad. ye just wasted a step," he said in mock sorrow as he easily put a large cut in EC's arm.

"Don't touch her!" Paul yelled, suppressing the instinct to rush to her side.

Richard grinned. "Tick tock, Mr. McCartney."

All Paul could do was hope that the pain would wake EC as he made his way, step by agonizing step, to the gun. Soon, EC was blinking and Paul's heart raced. There was hope!

Richard saw this movement too, and growled. Seeing Paul was no longer moving, he gave a cold grin before inflicting a huge wound on her wrists. "Time's up," he muttered.

EC screamed and threw him back, leaving him off-balance.

Paul cried out and sprinted the last few steps to the gun and attempted to shoot him, but found it had no bullets.

* * *

He had to get to Courtney. That was all John cared about now. Paul would get EC, but he needed to save Courtney.

John ran along the edge of a line of crates, looking for the girl he more or less thought of as his bird.

'I'll have to ask her out. If we live through this, that is,' he thought, a grim smile on his face as he continued over the sea of boxes.

Courtney wanted to scream to him, to tell him to turn back, but she was gagged and John was nearly there. She didn't feel the tears running down her face, and she didn't care. She knew she didn't want her Johnny to die.

'I'm sorry, John,' she thought as her finger tightened on the trigger.

A gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

* * *

But Paul didn't hear it. He had thrown himself at Richard, determined to kill him. Richard had almost escaped, his plan of leaving the gun unloaded having been discovered and foiled, but Paul had been too quick, and now they were rolling on the floor, each trying to beat the other senseless. Richard reached out and grabbed the knife he had dropped. He grabbed it and sent it across Paul's arm, leaving a deep gash and running as Paul reeled in pain from the wound.

Paul watched him leave for a second, catching his breath before he remembered EC. He crawled over a few feet to where she sat, watching the blood pour from her wrists in her stupor.

"It hurts, Paulie…" she muttered as Paul took her in his arms.

"I know, I know. It's ok, someone's gonna show up. Ye did really good."

They sat in silence then. One with a bleeding heart, the other bleeding out.


	15. Beatles Cops Epilogue

**Beatles Cops Epilogue**

Paul trudged home, beginning to think police work was more than it was worth. It was three months since it had happened, and he still couldn't get over it. Courtney had been a wreck, although she didn't like to admit it.

He walked in the front door of his flat, throwing his briefcase on the table and running his hand through his hair…

"Guess who," a voice said playfully.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe the bird I've been married to for three months?" he said, grinning.

EC giggled as he turned around to face her. Three months ago today, they'd tied the knot, and exactly two years ago Paul had almost lost her. Of course, now he couldn't be happier unless he didn't have to work.

"Lennons are coming over in half an hour," EC said, laughing as Paul groaned, "Oh, stop."

"They're not bringing Julie, are they?"

"Paul. She's one. They can't exactly jus leave her at home."

Paul gave an overdramatic sigh. "Fine, we'll jus have to make do with half an hour," he said, trying to hide a smirk, and failing.

* * *

"John!" Courtney called to her husband, having managed to, yet again, get ready to go to the McCartney's before he did.

"Y'know, I think we should jus stay here," he muttered, his hair combed into a halfway orderly fashion for once.

"What, and get all ready to go out for nothing? I got a new dress for this!"

"I like ye better without the dress," he said, smirk across his face.

Courtney sighed at her husband. He could be difficult at times. "Not in front of Julie or the sitter. God knows she already thinks we're weird."

John rolled his eyes. "So ye think they'll actually be decent this time?" he said, remembering the last time they had attempted to go out with their friends.

"Probably not," she chuckled, walking out to say goodbye to her daughter. "Bye, Jules!" she said, the little girl just laughing at her mum.

All was good. Richard Starkey was incarcerated for assault and attempted murder and everyone was together.


	16. Ghost of a Chance Part I

_Author's Note: Hello! This story is (so far) a three part one by me. It starts out very un-Beatles related, sadly, but I think you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Clearly, the main character here is either a bit slow or has no idea about the Beatles. _

_Okay, I'll shut up now! Thanks to all the readers! And to a guest for thier review! Ta much!_

**Ghost of a Chance Part I:**

**I Saw Him Standing There**

It was a dark and stormy night, and I was curled up next to the window watching it rain, feeling the thunder rumble through my bones and watching flashes of lightning light up the sky every so often. I loved storms. Absolutely loved them.

I was on my way to college, travelling over a few states to get there, when the rain became too heavy for me to drive. It was fine; I was ready to stop for the night, anyways. So, I found a small motel en route and settled in for the night, feeling a bit lonely, but otherwise nice.

I adjusted the blanket around my shoulders and sighed, partly with contentment, not thinking about the past nor the future. Just wondering about the "what ifs" and enjoying God's fireworks.

The lights flickered slightly. Not that I really expected more from a motel. Especially in a storm. I still automatically looked back in that small moment of panic before instantly chiding myself for being silly. Or was I being silly?

For an instant, I thought I saw someone in the room, standing there. But when I did a double take, nothing was there.

"Must be my imagination," I said to myself, but I decided it was probably time for bed if I was seeing things.

I slid off of the chair by the window and knelt next to my suitcase, digging until I found my pajamas. Well, my sweatpants and an old Cross Country t-shirt that served as pajamas. I slipped into them and shut the suitcase, grabbing my toothbrush first.

As I walked out of the bathroom with my toothbrush, spreading toothpaste around my teeth, I stopped, frozen. Blinking, I tried to make sense of what I was seeing, my mind deciding it would be a good time to scream and freak out.

"AHHH! GET OUT! What are you- GET OUT!" I screeched at the man standing in front of me.

He had long-ish brown hair and wore dark jeans and a t-shirt. His caramel brown eyes looked about as surprised as my own blue ones. He was a bit more amused, though.

"OUT!" I reiterated, toothpaste foam framing my mouth. I backed into the bathroom, not letting my eyes wander from him lest he make some sort of villainous move towards me.

He looked around, then back at me, his mouth opening as if to speak. Before a word could be spoken, he disappeared.

It happened within a blink, leaving me to shake my head in wonder and confusion. I shakily turned around to face myself in the mirror. I pushed my blonde hair behind me ear with trembling hands, taking shaky breaths.

"Okay," I said aloud, "You're tired and stressed after being on the road for so long. It's causing you to see things. You just need to go to sleep and this will be a funny memory in the morning."

I washed my face and cautiously peered around the corner. Seeing the room as it should be, I nervously laughed and crawled into bed, flicking off the light as I fell asleep to the sound of raindrops on the window pane.

iI was back home with my young brother and my old dog, who had died a year ago. She was following me as I walked around the house, looking for something, searching.

My brother started wrestling with my dog, the two playing happily as I paced around the living room, looking high and low. What I was looking for, I don't know.

I tripped over the mass of wrestlers, dog and boy, and fell on my face. As I began to get up, my brother poked my arm. I asked what he wanted, but he just poked me again.

"What are you doing?" I asked, now annoyed.

He lay by my side, pressing against me.\i

I awoke with a start, for a moment believing the pressure at my side was actually my little brother. As reality set in, and I remembered where I was. And that I was supposed to be alone.

I slowly lifted my face off the pillow and blinked my eyes into focus.

"AHHH!" I hollered, jumping up and falling off the bed with my usual lack of grace. I untangled myself from the sheets and peered over the top of the bed, just to make sure he was really there, that strange man on my hotel bed.

He was.

He was the same man I had seen before, the one who had suddenly vanished. His shaggy hair was pressed against the pillow as he gazed at me, a questioning look on his face.

"WHO ARE YOU?" I shouted, anger fuelled by embarrassment coursing through me.

He grinned faintly, more than amused by my rage. He moved his lips to answer, but there was no sound. Frowning, he tried again. Nothing.

During this, I looked around me for some sort of weapon. I was severely uncomfortable with having this stranger in my room, mute or not. The best I could find was my phone charger, plugged into the wall outlet.

"Okay, look," I said firmly, standing to my full height in attempt to look authorative and as menacing as possible while wearing fuzzy gray sweatpants and a soft blue t-shirt, "I don't know who you are. I don't know or care what you want. But you need to go."

The strange man sat up on the bed and shrugged. He didn't move, though.

"Get. Out," I repeated, now very annoyed. I took the charger in my hand and raised it to throw at him.

He still didn't move, just raised an eyebrow at the small, plastic object. I had to admit, it probably wasn't the most threatening weapon, but I was going to make it work.

Mustering up the strength in my arm, which wasn't anything extraordinary, but I did do light weight-lifting after Cross Country practice, I whipped the charger at him.

He flinched as it hit him and rubbed the spot on his forehead that it had hit him, looking pitiful and probably feeling sorry for himself.

Tough luck, I wasn't going to accept his presence without a fight. Obviously the tiny weapon didn't motivate him to move, so I moved on to plan B. I lunged and pushed him off the bed and onto the floor, pinning him beneath me. I wasn't known for my strength, but I had caught him by surprise. Besides, he didn't look too strong, either. He was thin, but not painfully so. Actually, he was kind of cute.

I shook away the thought, not needing to fall in love with a thief, or a murderer, or a rapist, or... whatever he was. No, I knew enough not to fall for a criminal. I couldn't see how that would end well.

I felt his body shaking beneath me, his mouth open and tears falling from his eyes. To my surprise, he was laughing. Laughing! At a time like this!

"Psychopath," I muttered, wondering what to do next. I couldn't keep him on the floor forever, but I didn't want to let him go lest he make his move, whatever move that was, at his first chance.

So instead, I continued to sit on his knees while pinning his wrists with hands. I wasn't known for my strength, but he wasn't exactly a bodybuilder, either.

Actually, he was kind of cute...

I scolded myself for that thought, knowing I didn't need to fall in love with a criminal. I couldn't see any way that could possibly end well.

He raised his head to say something, no longer looking at all amused, but once again, no sound came from his mouth. He settled with thrashing about, rocking from side to side and wiggling his arms violently.

After a short time, he rolled over, throwing me off. He quickly pinned me, then sat there, unsure of what to do next, as I had been.

"Now what?" I growled.

The man shrugged. He was stronger than he looked; I couldn't get free.

"Fine," I said, then began to howl for help. Within a moment, the door to my room was kicked down by a man in his workout clothes. He must have been on his way back to his room when I began to scream, by chance being near enough to hear me. Sweat dripped off his muscles.

The man sitting on me froze, looking around in a panic.

"Help!" I repeated, "I can't move!"

The other man, the muscular one who had come to my rescue, whipped out a cell phone, dialling the cops as he rushed to my side.

"Ma'am, don't panic, an ambulance is on the way," he assured me.

"An ambulance?" I asked, wondering why that and not police. There was a man sitting on top of me, pinning me down. Was that really as job for paramedics? "Don't you think-"

The shaggy-haired man on top of me quickly removed a hand from my wrist and covered my mouth, staring fearfully at the new man as he held his breath.

"No, ma'am, stay still," the new guy said, placing a calm hand on my free arm. "Hello?" He said into the phone, "Yes, I'm here with a girl who seems to be mostly paralyzed."

I glared at the original strange man, wondering many things. The most prominent wonder was the fact that two strange men were in my hotel room, something I never expected to happen. Ever. I supposed I should have counted myself lucky that neither of them seemed to be there for sexual reasons. Actually, I had no idea the first guy's reasons. And the second guy must have been dumber than a box of rocks. Or blind.

Or I was going crazy... And what an oh so comforting thought that was.

The one on top of me gently removed his hand from my face, putting a finger to his lips in a universal shush signal, his eyes sending signals of panic.

Well, duh, I wasn't gonna just lay there silently.

I opened my mouth to say something, perhaps to tell the other man what he was missing, but was quickly stopped. In a sort of frightened fluster, the man put an arm on my throat, closing off my air supply.

"I- hold on," the rescuer said into the phone, "I have to do CPR!" he put down the phone as i choked and spluttered.

My eyes rolled back, panic and lack of oxygen causing me to pass out before I could even feel the man's breaths of rescue.

iI was rolling in waves of blue-green, swimming without needing any heavy air tanks. Schools of strange and colorful fish swam by in every direction as I floated along. They flashed and shimmered in rainbow hues, happily waving their fins.

I swam against them, not needing to struggle to make my way. I felt something around my neck and looked down. A few bright blue tentacles were wrapped snugly around my neck. Looking to my right, I could see more bright blue mass. It peered at me as I tried to look at it. I soon pieced it together and realized it was a squid wrapped around me. A bright, aqua blue squid.

With squid scarf set, I swam on. The fish murmured around me. They sped up and veered away in all directions, leaving me alone in the sea./i

I awoke alone as well, settled into a plain hospital bed in a white hospital room. As I blinked groggily, I noticed the door was open and voices drifted in. Soft, business-like voices.

There was one of those cheesy whiteboards on the wall to my left, saying, "Hi, my name is... and I'm here for...". The blanks weren't filled in.

I sat up, trying not to remember the odd events from earlier. Or was it yesterday? How long had I been out?

A nurse walked by my room, balancing a tray of hospital food on one hand and a smaller tray of medication on the other. She glanced in at me and nodded, not really able to do much else. I relaxed, figuring now that she saw I was awake, she'd do her best to visit and tell me what in the world was going on.

"Some service they've got here," a voice, heavily accented, said from behind me, causing me to jump.

I whipped my head around and groaned, closing my eyes in hopes the figure would go away. I opened them once more. He was still there.

Leaning casually against the wall was the man that had first appeared in my motel room. His dark jeans contrasted greatly with the pristine white wall and his hair was messy. He looked like he could use a cigarette. The look on his face was the same one I had seen on various people moments before they excused themselves and lit up.

"Who are you?" I whispered, wondering why he wasn't in jail. Or why he was here of all places! "What do you want?"

"John, at your service," he replied with a mock bow. His voice was British, but not a dialect I recognized. Not that I was an expert by any means!

I was about to growl a witty reply when a nurse walked in, cheerily asking, "How are you feeling?"

The man, John, let out a wolf whistle aimed towards the pretty blonde in a too-tight nurse uniform. He stared at her chest.

"Fine," I said, ignoring him. She hadn't seemed to notice his outburst. He seemed to have that effect on people.

Then again, I reminded myself of the possibility that I was just crazy. Imagining a perverted guy, sure, why not? Nobody else seemed to notice his presence. Perhaps I was headed for a loony bin.

Perhaps I was already there.

I quickly pushed that thought away, not wanting to think about that. If my whole life were a lie, I would rather live without knowing it.

She nodded. "Good. We were quite concerned when you came in. Your airway had collapsed and you were unconscious because of it. I'll get the doctor. If all's well, you could be released."

"That'd be nice," I replied. As she was about to leave, I asked, "Wait, have you seen a man with brown hair, kinda long, kinda messy, come in here?"

She shook her head and my hopes fell. "No, I haven't. Boyfriend?"

I glanced at the corner John stood in to see him smirking. I wanted so badly to slap that smirk off of his face, shake him down and demand what it was he wanted with me, then make him leave and stay left.

"No," I replied, "Just someone I know."

The nurse left. I looked at John, glaring with my lips pursed.

"Why can't she see you?" I asked, crossing my arms. May as well take a direct approach to my problems, I supposed. Talk to the invisible man that only I could see.

He shrugged. "Why can you?"


	17. Ghost of a Chance Part II

_Author's Note: Here's part two! Okay, so I'm a terribly lazy writer and I apologize for those long waits that occur. Sorry!_

_Also, thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews! I appreciate every single person who leaves feedback, as well as those that simply read. I can't figure out what you guys like about these things I write for fun, but I'm not complaining! Thanks all!_

_Oh, and __**Warning for Language. **__I can't forget to add that warning in._

**Part II: It's All Too Much**

A few hours later, I was let out of the hospital with instructions to call immediately if anything went wrong. I assumed they meant medically rather than the problem of a perverted ghost hanging around.

"Where are you headed?" the ghost asked, his chilly voice tickling the side of my neck.

"The plan was to go back to school," I replied, not bothering to remind him about the concept of personal space. I had already tried to make him understand that. It hadn't worked. At least when he was nearly tied to my side, I knew he wouldn't jump out and scare me in some ghostly way.

"Art school?" he asked hopefully.

I laughed, couldn't really help it. "No, I wouldn't survive a day in those art classes with my art skills, or lack thereof. I'm going for Biology. Science."

"I know what biology is!" John shot back defensively, "Sounds right horrible."

I shrugged and kept walking. I liked it, and if he didn't, that was his problem. Although, after my short adventure with the less-than-living man, I wasn't sure if all the lectures on cells and matter would be quite the same.

"So, how did you... you know, become a ghost?" I asked, not really sure if that was a proper question to ask. But I was stuck in a car with him for a few more hours and wasn't about to sit in silence.

His tone grew immediately low and serious. "Shot. Four times. Bastard didn't even let me look at him, did it to my back," he growled, scooting over to his side of the car. He looked up for a moment, then slammed his fist against the window, streaking it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I could see he was the kind of person that covered up tears with anger, but knowing that didn't make me any less concerned about my own safety. He had strangled me once.

He looked out the window. "Why?" he asked, not turning to ask it to my face, "It probably happened before you were even born."

I nodded. "Perhaps. But even if I'm not personally responsible for it, maybe someone of the living should apologize in place of whoever held the gun. Besides, I am sorry that it happened to you."

He snorted. "Says the bird I nearly killed." He finally looked back at me and sighed. "It is nice having a conversation with someone again. Especially someone who doesn't see me and scream for my autograph."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to feel really dumb after this, I'm sure, but who exactly are you?"

The man smiled weakly. "Just don't crash the car, okay?" he said. I promised I wouldn't. "Name's John, you know that by now. My, uh, my full name is John Winston Ono Lennon." He braced himself, probably for screams of excitement or something to that effect.

"Okay," I replied, mulling it over. John Lennon was in my car. No big deal, right? He had appeared in my hotel room. Creepy, but whatever. The famous musician had nearly killed me. That would make quite the story if anyone believed it.

He tensed up more. "Okay?" he echoed.

"Yep. Okay," I repeated, "You're John Lennon. From the Beatles and beyond. I can buy that. Now, why are you here?"

"Christ, I dunno," he replied, "To haunt your mortal soul? Is that what ghosts usually do?"

I chuckled and pulled over into a rest stop area. "Can't say I've met one before." As I turned the key, the car shuddered to a halt in front of the rest stop building. I calmly opened the door and stepped out of the car, walking to the restroom with purpose. John stayed behind in the car, half pleased and half disappointed with my reaction.

As soon as I insured the restroom was empty, I leaned against the wall and held my face in my hands. "Holy shit," I breathed, "John fucking Lennon is in my car. JOHN FUCKING LENNON!" I slid down the wall, murmuring to myself as I tried to regain control of the emotions I had kept hidden. There was no way I was going to freak out in front of Lennon, not a chance. I hugged my knees, eyes wide and staring as I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that John Lennon, born before my grandparents, was sitting in my Impala. And I had thought him cute.

I closed my eyes. "Hell, no, this isn't happening," I moaned. I hadn't even been a believer in spirits, much less expect to meet a famous one! Although I had nothing to be upset over, it was all too much for me to take.

For a long while, I sat there, eyes closed with my elbows wrapped around my knees and my hands holding my head, rocking back and forth. When I finally calmed down and opened my eyes, I jumped up in fright.

"John!" I yelled, scrambling to my feet. He was leaning against the wall near a sink, sad brown eyes on me.

His arms were crossed, his shoulders low and drooping. He stayed silent as I wiped my face in embarrassment, red flushing my cheeks.

"John, I... I just needed to get something off my chest and... and... How long were you standing there?" I mumbled, looking down.

"Long enough," he replied, "I didn't mean to cause you pain. Actually, if I could leave, I would. But for some reason, I can't."

I felt my body stiffen, wondering if he was admitting some kind of premature form of love that I had yet to feel. "What do you mean...?" I asked cautiously.

John uncrossed his arms and stood nearer to me. I widened my eyes as I felt my chest pound. "I mean, I physically cannot go far from your side. I'll show you. Outside." He led me out of the small, dingy rest stop bathroom and out into the cool air. Motioning for me to stay, he began to walk out in a straight line through the meadow of bronzed fall grass. I watched as he grew smaller and smaller. Then, he disappeared completely, not gradually as I expected, but his shape just vanished from the spot it had previously stood, mid-step.

"John?" I called out nervously.

With a start that made me jump nearly a foot in the air, I heard his voice from behind. "I'm back to just a few feet from you."

I spun around to see him standing not a foot behind me, eyes lowered. He still had stray bits of field grass stuck to his pants. I had an urge to slap him, but restrained myself. "That wasn't funny," I said with a slight growl.

John rolled his head, in what I assumed was an attempt at rolling his eyes. "If it were, I'd be one hell of a comedian. But that's what happens. When you went to the hospital, I was suddenly forced to appear at your side. I don't get it."

I shook my head in wonder. "Sounds like a terrible soap opera," I joked drily.

"Great, I suppose the kissing scene is next?" John added in a similar tone, "And then someone's ex shows up."

I raised half my face into a smile. "I think this love story needs a new writer. Or someone to pull the plug on production!"

John laughed. "Maybe they'll kill off the male lead roll." He paused for effect, then stated, "Oh, hold on a tic, they already did!"

I grimaced at the dark joke. "Yeah... well, let's be off, then. I do actually have to be back at college sometime today."

He nodded and we climbed back into the car. The rest of the ride was filled with pleasant small talk and the radio's choice tunes.

* * *

John lived with me in my college dorm room, unnoticed by my roommate. He was forced to stay near as I ran Cross Country practice and attended lectures he found absolutely boring. To make up for it, I would often sit outside the arts center to do homework, where he could wander and look at abstract art as well fiddle with some of the instruments in the building. It worked out pretty well, if not a bit awkwardly, and time passed in the way it does. About two months into the school year, I had a thought.

"John," I whispered, too quiet for my classmates in the lecture hall to hear. John heard, though, and peered over my shoulder into my notebook. We had perfected a means of communication that wouldn't arouse suspicion by any of my classmates of my sanity. I would write down what I wanted to say, and John would simply reply back with no one else hearing his voice.

"Have you been listening?" I had written.

"To this bloke? Not a chance!" he responded loudly.

I picked up my pencil. "You should have been. He's a firm believer in ghosts. Says he knows more about them than anyone else."

"I doubt that," John replied.

I scribbled out more words. "Worth a shot, though, don't you think?"

I could feel him move as he chuckled, his chest pressed against my back. He still hadn't learned a thing about personal space. "Sure, let's see what the daft old man knows!"

Class ended and the other students picked up their bags and headed out the door. I stalled in my clean-up efforts until everyone else had gone. Then, I walked up to the professor. "Excuse me, sir," I said to get his attention, "I have a few questions about today's lecture."

He turned around with a big smile. "You actually paid attention? I appreciate it! What is it I can help you with?"

John sat comfortably on the chair behind me, sprawled out.

"Well," I said, unsure how to start, "About the spirit part... What would you have to do in order to... I don't know... unchain them from something they can't leave?"

The professor looked curiously at me. "Are you talking of a poltergeist?"

"Uh... Not really," I say, "I mean, I guess I don't know much about it..."

John snorted. "Please, as if I were a simple poltergeist, knocking vases over and flickering the lights. OooooOOOOoooo!" he said in a mock-ghost voice. To everyone's surprise, especially John's, the lights did flicker then.

The professor looked warily at me. "This isn't hypothetical, is it?"

I shook my head and gave a weak smile. "No... Not really."

He sat down and ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "Okay, tell me about this spirit of yours, then."

I told of John, starting from the hotel room, mentioning the inability for him to leave, and ending with our jointed life in college. John sat behind me, adding his own details and comments whenever he could. Which, was always, since he had no qualms about interrupting me. Of course, the professor had no clue he was adding his two cents.

When I had finished, I waited nervously for a response. I hadn't told anyone, just attempted to live my life normally with a ghost John Lennon at my side.

"Nice try," John said with a sigh, "But I think you stumped him."

That was the least of my concerns. I figured he would soon call up a doctor and have me taken away to an asylum for hallucinations and delusions.

But no. "Well... That's quite the tale," he said slowly, "And quite the spirit. I'm thinking poltergeist, but you say he's not violent or angry?"

"No," I said, then thought back, "Well, I shouldn't say that. He did accidentally come close to killing me. Other than that, no violence."

The old man scratched his chin. "Right, and that's the only thing that doesn't fit. You see, usually with poltergeists, the easiest thing to do is pacify them by destroying an object they're connected to. Sometimes, it's a whole house, other times a small object. Now, this case is different. He seems, from what you told me, to be connected to you. First off, we're not going to destroy a person. Second, I don't think violence and the destruction of something will work on this one... If he isn't a violent spirit, violence will not be pleasing."

"Please please me," John commented.

"So, if that won't work," I said, "What will?"

The professor shrugged. "I'm afraid you'll have to get to know this spirit better in order to find out. This is quite the unusual case. He's here now, you say?"

I nodded and gestured to the chair John was sitting in. "He's been the peanut gallery of this conversation."

The professor stared hard at the chair, then shook his head and sighed. "I suppose I'll have to take your word for it," he said sadly, clearly desperate to catch a glimpse of John.


	18. Ghost of a Chance Part III

_Author's Note: Okay, it's been a good long while, and I'm sorry! But I finally managed to finish this short, even if the ending may seem a bit cheesy... You'll see. I apologize for any out of character-ness or less-than-fantastic writing and plot. It has been too long!_

_A huge thank you to all the favorites, follows, and reviews! You guys are the best, and you should know it! Thanks!_

**Ghost of A Chance**

**Part III: Free As A Bird**

It had been six months. John was becoming increasingly annoying as he was forced to live my routine-filled life of classes, homework, and running. On the other hand, I was also becoming more and more anxious to set him free and be rid of him, despite the bond we had.

"John, what do you want?" I asked calmly to the otherwise empty dorm room. We had gone through so many conversations starting with that question in an effort to free him of the invisible chains that bound him to me.

He sighed and flopped down on my bed. "I told you everything I wanted! Life, freedom, Yoko, youth, love, beer, wine, a cat, some peanuts, guitars, a harmonica, recording equipment, a slimmer figure, sex, a better room, less lectures, wings, money-"

"Okay, okay," I sighed, "I know. But there must be something we're missing!" In the past, I had tried to get him most of the things he asked for, refusing only a few, and nothing had changed.

"What's the use?" he moaned, "I'll be there for your wedding, the honeymoon, the birth of your children, everything. I won't have a choice, and neither will you."

I grimaced at the thought of John next to me, invisibly, with my future husband on our honeymoon. That would make things awkward.

"Better get used to it," John continued, "I'm going nowhere for a long while."

I began to wonder if he was as desperate to get away as I had thought. I, for one, had mixed feelings. He was very much so my closest friend, but at the same time, he was one hell of annoying man. Granted, he was always cracking a joke, and he did have his sweet moments, but having to be next to him 24/7 was not something I would recommend to anyone.

"Come on, John, there's gotta be something!" I exclaimed desperately, "What haven't you mentioned? "

He shrugged and dangled a leg off of my bed. With one hand, he fumbled for my small radio and turned it on, going through the stations, most of them pure static. Sometimes, he had that effect on technology. It would reject his presence and dysfunction for a short time, especially when he was either angry, scared, or a similar emotion.

I sighed and sat down on my desk, clearing aside various papers of homework, doodles, and bits of stories and poems I wrote down. I picked up my phone and absent-mindedly looked through the apps it contained, not really seeing any of them so much as looking past them as I thought. Clearly, John was hiding something. I had spent too much time with him to not pick up on the signs. The problem was figuring out what he was hiding, and why.

I refocused on the phone long enough to pick the app for my music. The white noise of static was beginning to bother me, and I was fairly certain John knew that, but I wasn't going to grant him the satisfaction of telling him. Instead, I put my playlist of music from the sixties to current various forms of rock. Half the songs were ones I had taken from a college friend, but had yet to hear. Surprisingly, a lot of Lennon's own songs were included in that list.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, listening to thenewno2's newest album. I had been surprised to learn one of the band members was Dhani Harrison, George's son. Then again, it seemed that the Beatles connections were popping up all over recently, not including the Beatle that had made his inhabitancy in my dorm room.

John was unusually quiet as the music played. He turned off the radio in frustration and flopped on the bed to readjust his position, huffing loudly.

I rolled my eyes as the song changed. It was one I had heard before, but hadn't recognized. Of course, the voice had since become familiar, spitting out words that I didn't quite catch. Then, the chorus began and the John on my lofted bed hummed along absently.

"All we are saying," the recording sounded, "Is give peace a chance."

"Hey, Johnny, not bad," I said.

He grunted in response.

"What are you even saying in the verses?" I tried.

He rolled to the side of the bed and hung his head down to look at me. "Not quite sure. Whatever came to mind at the time." His hair fell out of place as he hung upside-down.

I listened in silence for a bit, smiling at his lyrics. I had a terrible ear for these things and caught only about half of the verses, but they were amusing all the same.

Then, I smacked my forehead. "John!" I nearly shouted, "We're daft! Dumb!" I had begun to pick up on some of the phrases I heard from either him or any other British source, but wasn't ready to commit to them.

He wrinkled his face into a look of confusion, but I could see something beyond it, something a bit more like dread. "Are we?" he asked.

"Course we are!" I replied, "Peace! Give peace a chance! Oh, John, what if that's what you want?"

"You'd think I'd know that, then," he scoffed. His tone was too quiet.

"John..." I said softly, "What's up? Seriously, you've been acting real strange. Well, stranger than usual, anyway." I paused and slid off the desk I had been using as a seat, standing up on my feet before hoisting myself up onto the bed next to John. "Why?" I asked simply.

He shrugged. "Don't know what you're on about, love."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then you won't mind trying out this peace thing? See if it works?"

He laughed darkly. "As if it would. What would you do? Take away all the bombs and guns? Tie people's hands to their sides so they can't fight? I tried years to chip away at the wars and hate, and look where we are now. Besides, that probably wouldn't do it anyway."

"Worth a shot," I stated, "Although I may have to ask the professor for help... He's wanted to stay updated, anyway." I clung to the hope that I was right and this would work despite John's doubts.

"Whatever," Lennon grumbled.

"Come on, his office hours start in about twenty minutes," I said, slipping off the bed and landing on the floor with a soft thump. I stepped into my shoes and opened the door.

John reluctantly followed. "Like I have a choice."

"What got up your pants and gave you the grump?" I teased.

He grunted.

"Come on, John," I sighed, grabbing my backpack and heading toward the professor's building on the other side of campus. He didn't get up, but we both knew he would be forced to follow all the same.

Not a few feet outside of my dorm building, I turned as I heard someone talking, an automatic response in such a small college. Most of the students knew at least a bit about each other, and there were little to no social rules about talking to those you didn't know. When I faced the voice, I realized I hadn't actually seen this man before. Not only that, but he seemed to be talking to himself. About gardening, of all things. As soon as he noticed me staring, his mouth shut and he blushed slightly.

John appeared at my side. "He's a right nutter," he muttered in a false accent, following my gaze. His brown eyes soon widened, though, and he audibly gasped, his mouth remaining wide open.

"What is it?" I asked, momentarily forgetting that John was a ghost. I probably looked just as insane as the dark-haired young man in my path, and blushed just as deeply when the thought struck me.

Looking at John's shocked face gave no indication as to what was going on, so I did what comes naturally. I followed his gaze to a spot right behind the stranger, where another stood, one that I hadn't seen before. This man's dark hair was styled in a perm, something I had not seen in real life, and his dark eyebrows were pulled together in confusion over his even darker, piercing eyes. His cheekbones seemed to jut out of his thin face as he stared at John.

"John," I murmured quietly, barely moving my mouth to do so, "What's going on?"

"George..." he whispered in awe. Which wasn't really an answer to my question. It took me far too long to piece things together and realize he meant George Harrison, _the_ George Harrison, was standing in front of us.

My own jaw dropped open as the realization struck me. I looked from George to John, then back to George before sliding over to glance at the boy that seemed to be accompanying the famous musician. His eyes were locked onto John, his expression the one of shock that the rest of is wore. Seeming to notice I was looking at him, the young man tore his gaze from Lennon and looked at me nervously.

"Do you, uh..." he stammered, "Do you go to school here? Place is full of... interesting people."

I nodded. "It sure is," I agreed.

"Even some... celebrities," he said, glancing at John again, but only momentarily.

"So it seems," I replied, "Even ones I never thought I'd be able to see." I glanced at George, who had walked over to John and was on the receiving end of a Lennon hug.

"You can see them, too, right?" he asked.

I turned my attention back. "I sure can. To be honest, been seeing too much of the one lately..." I trailed off.

The boy smiled and stuck out a hand a bit awkwardly. "I'm Stephen," he said as I shook the hand, "And I think I understand what you mean. George over there can't seem to go anywhere unless I go there, too."

"Sounds like my problem with John," I replied warmly, looking into blue-green eyes.

Stephen laughed, shaking his shaggy nutmeg hair. "Finally, someone who understands! It's been a year for me, and I love the guy and all, but I miss personal space!"

"A year?" I repeated, "Ouch... It hasn't been that long for us, but long enough that I barely remember what personal space is! I would love that back." I swipe aside my blonde bangs from my eye and smile.

"I can't imagine what John's like... I've heard stories from Harrison, and as amusing as they are, I don't think I could live with him."

"You get used to him and all his oddities," I replied, "Not much choice in the matter."

Grunting in agreement, Stephen began to meander along the sidewalk. I walked beside him, glad for the understanding company. "Still, I can't imagine why the two are stuck with us. I mean, George and I have been wandering around the country trying to find answers, and have come up with nothing but hunches and failed intuition."

I looked down. "I guess I haven't been all that active in finding an answer for John. I've talked to a professor a few times, and tried to guess what he might need in order to move in, but it's really all been on the side of my college career."

"Don't feel bad," Stephen said, "I regret not trying to do something with my own life. George has encouraged it, trying to put me first, but it was never really his choice as to where we go, and I'd rather have someone else to focus on than solve my own problems." He looked at my face for a moment, then looked away.

We walked in companionable silence for a while, fingers occasionally brushing against each others as if part of a temperamental magnet. Each time let out a blush in my cheeks and an apology on his breath. I was surprised John wasn't making his normal smart response.

Actually, I was surprised John was keeping quiet at all.

I stopped walking and looked around in mild concern. Stephen stopped as well and peered at my face, squinting in the sun. "What is it?" he asked.

Continuing to scan the area, I replied, "I think I may be missing someone..." It felt weird not to see the familiar hooked nose nearby. John was missing, and I was disoriented by the sudden loss of his presence.

Stephen spun around as well, eyes darting around. "George?" he called out timidly. He looked back to me. "Where have they gone?"

"And how?" I added.

Stephen shook his head, still looking for the familiar face. "Maybe they got stuck back where we left them?" He suggested.

I shrugged. "Seems unlikely, but we could check. You don't think they're... free, do you?"

He paused to look into my eyes, then allowed a small smile. "Seems too good to be true, doesn't it?"

* * *

The two held hands like brothers entering unfamiliar lands. And their surroundings were unfamiliar. They clearly weren't in the same place, anymore.

"What happened?" John asked, trying not to let his voice shake. The two had been standing in the middle of a college campus one moment, catching up on memories as the young adults they were chained to walked further and further away. Next thing he knew, John had blinked and found himself engulfed in a warm white light, surrounded by what looked like clouds. It was what heaven was always told to be, but it seemed too cliché to accept.

George's calloused hand gently squeezed John's. "Not sure I know." He was gazing around in awe, taking in as much of his surroundings as he could. "But I think it's a good thing."

John relaxed slightly, following George's lead as they walked through clouds and fog that was dimming every second. Faint shapes became clearer in the distance as they walked on, both feeling energized and young once again.

Taking in a breath, George smiled. His vision was better than John's and he could see what lay ahead. "Johnny boy," he said slowly, "We made it, after all."


End file.
